Better Be Slytherin
by imgoingbackto505
Summary: Choosing sides was a difficult thing. And vital for all Slytherins. A story of the lives of the Slytherins from year five and on, following them through difficult choices, injustice and war, but also friendship and love. There are always two sides to a story…
1. It Had Better Be Slytherin!

_Better Be Slytherin  
I_

In a small, colourless and sparingly decorated bedroom with faded wallpaper, a boy with an age of about fifteen slept under covers that were once white but now more beige. Besides the bed, in the room there was a desk full of papers, a half-full bookshelf with mostly books and some various objects, and also a set of joke products with _Weasley's Wizard Wheezes _written on it. A simple light bulb was hanging from the ceiling, and in between the door frame and the shelf, there was a pile of books on the floor. On the window pane, a fat greyish brown toad sat – asleep – just as the owner of the room was.

Theodore Nott woke up to pale September-light shining in through his window. His gangly bed creaked as he sat up on the edge of it and yawned. He hastily looked to the window, where Margaret sat on the window pane. Outside the sky was hidden in a layer of white. He saw dry grass and some trees by the horizon, but other than that, it was empty, except for a few sheep walking about in the meadow below the house.

Theodore glanced at his trunk on the floor, half pushed under the bed. It was empty. He had forgotten to pack his things the previous night, which he had planned to do. He glanced at the clock on the nightstand and discovered that it was not as late as he had thought, so he would have time to pack this morning before getting to the train.

Theodore reckoned his dad was at work, or away on business, because he noticed the house was empty and quiet as he grabbed a set of robes from a wardrobe hidden behind the door and got dressed. The old wooden floor creaked when he exited his room and went to the kitchen.

Theodore's room was at the back of the small one-story house, and to get to the hall or kitchen, he had to go through the sitting room, a grey and dusty room that looked like it was not used commonly; a worn-out sofa, an armchair that looked hard, and a fireplace was the only furniture in the room. The walls were filled with bookshelves, which almost exclusively contained books with dark backs. Compared with his fellow house mates, Theodore reckoned, he was living quite simply

He went to the small kitchen and got bread and pumpkin juice out from the pantry. He sat down by the table and spread some butter on a piece of bread and had breakfast in silence.

He returned to his room and packed his few belongings and some set of robes into his trunk and then he Flooed to the rather shabby wizarding pub the Leaky Cauldron, and made his way to King's Cross by foot. He knew the streets of London quite well – he usually walked about there in the summer - thus he had no problem finding the train station.

Even though the smoke-filled platform was crowded with other students and their families, Theodore simply pushed his way through and stepped onto the fiery red and whistling train. He quickly found an empty compartment where he settled down and looked out the window, wanting the train to just leave London. He wished all the other students would not take so much time saying goodbye to their parents.

Pansy Parkinson pushed open the door to the compartment Draco Malfoy, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle were occupying and stepped inside with a smug expression on her face. "Hello, boys."

The three turned and looked at her. She noted that Vincent's eyes lingered on her chest for a moment, eyebrows slightly raised. Gregory muttered a simple "hiya" and returned to his comics. Malfoy immediately leaned his head slightly to one side and smirked at her. "All right?"

His eyes travelled down to her chest, where her prefect-badge was.

Malfoy, who had an identical copy of the badge on his own robe, gave a sort-of laugh and exclaimed: "I knew you'd get it! Let me see…" He beckoned her towards him. She smiled contently. She had not doubted for one second that he had become the second prefect in their house. Malfoy was the absolute favourite student of their Head of House, Snape, not to mention that the latter was long-time friends with Draco's father, who suitably enough was on the school board. Given that, it wasn't surprising that Pansy had been chosen, as, in Snape's words "Mr. Malfoy and Miss Parkinson cooperate nicely and have all the right morals".

The compartment door slid close behind her as she went to sit next to Malfoy, who immediately fixed her badge where it was on her chest. "We're going to do prefect duties together now, just imagine it; we can boss everyone around... I knew you'd get it..."

"Yeah, it'll be brilliant."

Malfoy was now done re-attaching the badge onto her robe and now looked up at her.

"Do you reckon Potter's got one?" he asked.

"Probably. He _is _Dumbledore's pet, after all."

Malfoy looked away now; he looked like he was thinking, as he mumbled: "You're probably right, yeah... He's _The-Boy-Who-Lived _– `course he had to get picked."

He looked cross for a moment, and Pansy felt the urge to either try to cheer him up or mock him about it. Before she could do either, though, his face lit up into a big smirk, with his eyes still focused on something on the floor before them. "But if he doesn't get picked..."

Pansy looked at him and started smirking as well.

"Then I'll be able to take points from him, won't I?" continued Malfoy, as if he'd just found a way to really improve his life. "And then he wouldn't be able to say anything back because I'd get him detention for being _disrespectful towards a prefect_." On that last remark, he popped out his chest a bit, looking satisfied.

Malfoy turned to her slowly and they looked at each other. They both started grinning, and Pansy gave a shrill laugh.

The sky outside of the compartment window grew darker and darker as Theodore read today's copy of The_ Daily Prophet_. Everything was at peace when he did this, sitting alone with just his toad, Margaret, in the dimly lit compartment, with the landscape rushing past outside the window. He knew toads had gone out of fashion years ago – all the other students had cats or owls – but he liked her. The comfortable seat, the muffled sounds of other students' voices from the neighbouring compartments, the dimmed light – it made him sleepy.

The newspaper slowly slid through his grip as his eyes closed. But then...

BANG! All of a sudden the compartment door was roughly pushed open, making Theodore jump. He was now staring up at the tall and sturdy Blaise Zabini who had began pushing his trunk inside.

"You mind if I sit here, mate?" he said, with a voice that had gotten much deeper over the summer – but he did not wait for an answer.

Theodore sat up more straight and collected himself, rubbing his face.

"All the other compartments are full," commented Zabini, as he slung his trunk up on the luggage rack without any problems. "Well, except for Malfoy's – but who'd want to sit in _there_? I mean the company'd make me want to hurt myself."

Zabini sank down on the seat opposite Theodore, who snorted.

"Pansy, eh?" said Theodore in a knowing sort of tone.

"Crabbe and Goyle as well," sniggered Zabini. Theodore wrinkled his nose.

There was a silence. He looked out the window.

The train made a sudden turn, making the lanterns swing and their trunks move slightly. English countryside whooshed past outside the window. Theodore could see himself and the whole scene inside of the compartment reflected in the dark window glass.  
  
"Well..." said Theodore after a moment of silence. He felt he needed to keep a conversation going, even though Zabini seemed relaxed and like it did not bother him that they were not speaking. "Had a nice holiday?"

Zabini half-rolled his eyes, as if to shrug. "I suppose."

Zabini wasn't really one to share personal experiences. He spoke when spoken to, mostly.

Theodore did not really mind the silence either. He usually did not like socialising very much. He did not really have friends, if he thought about it. The closest thing he had to a friend was probably Zabini, and that was only because they respected each other in some way. Theodore respected him, at least, and he figured the feeling was mutual, because otherwise Zabini would have been much cooler towards him – ignoring him like he ignored nearly the rest of the school.

And Draco Malfoy – Theodore was not exactly _friends _with him, either. He had been over for dinner at the Malfoys' a few times with his father when he was younger – but that was only because their fathers were "business acquaintances". But Theodore had never really liked Malfoy – he was spoilt and rude and lived in a big manor and he had had all the toys Theodore had wanted back then. These days, Theodore felt about the same way towards Mafoy. He was a little drama queen, and the people he surrounded himself with were not any better.

Pansy Parkinson, for example – she was a ditzy cow. She was the obvious leader of a small gang of girls in their House and liked to mock people. Theodore did not like her very much. And Crabbe and Goyle – they were just brainless followers – i.e. unpleasant.

They did not speak for the rest of the train ride.

Finally, when the sky was dark blue and scattered with stars, the train slowed down and stopped at Hogsmeade station. There was a slight chaos when they grabbed their trunks and pushed their way out into the already crowded corridor, but Theodore could simply follow in Zabini's tracks, and they were soon out on the platform.

Pansy was shivering in the cold. Even though the platform was packed with students, there was a biting cold in the air. The wind went through the branches of the trees nearby the station, creating a scratching noise. When she thought about it, it was actually oddly cold for this time of year. The atmosphere was high, though – everyone was excited to get up to the castle.

All the students were trying to get a carriage – the first ones had just arrived. Malfoy, who was a bit further ahead, was pushing some tiny Hufflepuffs out of his way. Pansy followed him, pushing through the crowd but finding herself having problems. She lugged her trunk, and some brat got in the way so she had to stop, which caused Vincent to walk straight in to her. She sent him a glare and straightened up.

Vincent and Gregory were loads bigger than her, so they pushed through the crowd and made way. Pansy climbed into the carriage and was terribly grateful for the warmth inside.

The ride up to Hogwarts was pleasant. They all had a great time mocking Harry Potter; Pansy laughed so hard when Malfoy did an impression of him. She really had the funniest friends in the world.

The first thing that Draco noticed after getting settled in at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, was that there was something different at the staff table – that great of Hagrid was not there. He commented about it, laughing loudly to the appreciation of his class-mates. He could not believe the school would hire an animal like that in the first place – it just proved how low the standards of this school were, Draco thought bitterly. He glanced over at the Gryffindor table where Potter and Weasley looked anxiously at the staff table, clearly having noticed what Draco too had noticed – probably sad that their half-giant was not there to welcome them. Draco smiled.

All through the – as usual _incredibly_ _boring – _Sorting, Draco's stomach was growling and he was happy to help himself to roast potatoes and steak and kidney pie as soon as everyone was sorted. The food was, as usual, not like it was at home, but he could cope.

The only thing interesting about Dumbledore's start-of -term speech was that he was interrupted. After all, they'd all heard his speeches a hundred times and could probably recite them by heart – what was interesting was _who _had interrupted him. A toad-like, pink-wearing Ministry of Magic-employed woman who told them all about how Hogwarts was going to change this year. Listening and watching her, quite surprised of her nerve to interrupt the Headmaster, along with the rest of the students, he realised he could not form an opinion yet. Sure, it would be lovely if something, or rather someone were to improve the manners of the school, but he would certainly have to see her in action to evaluate her.

He noticed Theodore Nott looking disapprovingly at their new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher as she spoke. Blaise Zabini seemed utterly uninterested; Vincent and Gregory too slow to care.

"What do you reckon?" he asked Pansy at his side, under his breath, nodding towards the woman in her pink cardigan.

Pansy looked at her with a hint of disgust.

"She needs a new wardrobe," she said then, making Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis snigger, and which seemed to resolve the matter as nobody said anything about it after that.

After leading first year Slytherins up to the common room (bloody prefect badge, Draco thought), and informing them of all the rules and to stay put and not lose any house-points, he, Gregory, Vincent and Pansy sat round the fireplace in their hard armchairs in the dark, greenish common room, joking and complaining about being back at school.

After enjoying their first potions lesson where Snape mocked Potter's attempt at the Draught of Peace, they were to meet their new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher for the first time. Their first lesson with professor Umbridge, their new Defence teacher was different. That was the only way Pansy could describe it. After years of being taught by werewolves, Death Eaters in disguise and so on, it was surprisingly settled and easy. They were only to read Defensive Magical Theory and their new professor explained how they would not need to learn to use spells or fight, which caused an argument between her and the Gryffindors. Pansy admitted that perhaps Umbridge, this little pink lady who played the part of sugary nice, was not as nice as she made herself out to be – she did seem really stern – but, to be honest, Pansy reckoned Potter and the lot was overreacting slightly. They were bloody fifteen years old – they would notexactly need to learn how to duel yet, did they? It was silly.

The argument sparked a conversation between her classmates on the way towards their common room through the dungeons, about Potter and his sanity – whether what he said happened in June was true or not. Whether the Dark Lord was back or not.

Pansy noticed that both Malfoy and Theodore Nott kept a passive front during the entire conversation while the others discussed what they thought. She wondered why.

_Eleven year old Pansy Parkinson had just said goodbye to her mum and dad. She was lugging her heavy trunk down the corridor of the Hogwarts Express, looking for someone she knew (which were only a few) or an unoccupied compartment. After looking for a while, she got tired of dragging around her trunk, so she pushed open the door of a compartment full of boys who looked about her own age. They all turned to look at her when she stepped into the compartment, and stopped talking, sniggering and joking around. Pansy, confident as she was, figured it was best to introduce herself properly. _

_"Hello boys, my name is Pansy Parkinson and I'll be making Slytherin," she said in a nonchalant tone – and then she added, "And I'm going to sit in here."_

_She must have radiated confidence and power, even though she was only eleven years old. Since nobody replied her for a few second she took this time to acknowledge the boys in the room. There were five of them, all wearing black robes, just like her. A black boy with slanting eyes watched her disdainfully and sniggered. There were two fat boys about twice Pansy's size on both ends who looked stupid and troll-like. They both simply looked like they were set to zero, as if they did not have an opinion of their own. A small colourless scrawny boy with short greyish brown hair was simply sitting looking out the window, as if he did not care. The last boy was pale and had white-blonde hair and a pointy face. He locked glances with Pansy, his lip curling in a superior manner._

_"Parkinson, you said? You're Graham Parkinson's daughter?" the blond boy asked._

_Pansy pushed out her chin slightly in a defiant matter when the boys started sniggering. The blond boy exchanged a glance with one of the fat ones._

_"What's so funny?" snapped Pansy. The blond one turned back to her and looked satisfied._

_"My father's told me about your dad – I know who you are," he said smugly._

_"And that makes you feel well special, does it?" said Pansy cheekily. The boys started sniggering again. "Ooh, she's cocky," said one of the troll-like boys, with his mouth full of pumpkin pasty._

_Pansy felt satisfied with herself. The blond boy on the other hand did not look as content – Pansy figured he was not used to people giving him comments like that. He forced a cool smile. "Indeed, Vincent."_

_Pansy could not help thinking that this boy probably thought a bit too high of himself - who spoke like that at their age? He addressed the troll-like one who liked to eat, but kept his eyes at Pansy intensely. She did not avert her eyes even though she felt like she shrunk a bit. She reckoned that was his way of testing her – like he did not want to be friends with some sissy. Well, lucky for her then, she was not just a silly little girl. She was tough. Thinking back on it, Pansy thought that that was the moment where Malfoy had gotten his respect for her, because when he opened his mouth next, his tone was completely changed._

_"D'you want a pumpkin pasty? Greg's certainly had enough for today."_

_Pansy nodded, tiny smile on her face. The blond boy motioned for the one with the slanting eyes to move so that Pansy could sit next to him. He seemed like some sort of leader, or that was the feeling she got – even though she did not know whether the boys all knew each other from before or if they had just met. Pansy had not liked the pale boy at first but he was improving in her eyes. She hid her smirk as the one with the slanting eyes narrowed them and moved to the side._ _Pansy settled down next to the blond boy, who gave her a pumpkin pasty and said: "I'm Malfoy, by the way, Draco Malfoy."_

_"Oh, right, cool." She was sitting dangling her legs and nibbling her pumpkin pasty. Malfoy pointed at the troll-like ones. "That's Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle for you. And that's Theodore Nott." He pointed at the scrawny one. "And this is Blaise Zabini." He nodded towards the black boy. They all gave her a nod or mumbled "hiya" when he introduced them._

_"We're all planning on making Slytherin as well," declared Malfoy._

_"Brilliant!" _

_"Your dad works at the Ministry, doesn't he?" Malfoy then asked her, referring to the earlier mentioning of Mr Parkinson. "My father does quite a bit of business round there."_

_"Oh, does he? Yes, he's head of International Magical Office of Law, in the department of International Magical Cooperation,"she replied proudly, quite recently having memorised the title. She noticed Malfoy's eyebrows lifting slightly._

_"What does your dad do?" she hastily asked._

_ "I'm not quite sure, actually," he replied, frowning slightly._

_And then they got talking. Well, Malfoy was the most active one, probably. He babbled on about random things, and they joked around and suddenly Pansy realized she did not dislike him at all anymore. Pansy was being cheeky, but he seemed to like that. And they talked about chocolate frog cards they had collected, The Weird Sisters' new song, Hogwarts (Malfoy drawled about what his father thought of Dumbledore), and about Slytherin House, since everybody in there planned to become Slytherins. And then they somehow came to the matter of Harry Potter. _

_"I heard he's on the train! D'you know if that's true?" said Pansy excitedly__._

_Malfoy frowned. "But he's a baby."__  
_  
_Pansy started laughing, and Zabini sniggered. _

_"He was a baby eleven years ago when the Dark Lord tried to kill him, but you can't expect him to remain a baby for eleven years, can you! He's grown up since then, of course."_

_Malfoy's cheeks turned slightly pink, he looked a bit irritated. Pansy smirked._

_"Blimey, Vince, Greg, did you hear that? Harry Potter!"_


	2. Playing Your Cards Well

_Better Be Slytherin  
II_

It was Monday night in the Slytherin common room and a couple of second years sat comfortablysunk-down in the armchairs by the fireplace, with big books in front of them. They had had a long school-day but where despite that forced to study – they had already gotten three homework-assignments and they were only one day in on the term. One of them, a pale brown-haired boy with slanting eyes, gave a big yawn. The common room was fairly deserted, only a few other students were present. The fire was crackling and the green lights gave the whole room an unnatural glow.

BANG! The entrance to the common room, a big portrait of which they could only see the back, blew open and revealed an enormous boy with a shaved head and a malicious face-expression. He roughly made his way through and was followed by another boy just as big with arms full of pink cupcakes that looked tiny compared to himself. The two marched right up to the armchairs by the fireplace and scared away the younger students. The one with slanted eyes groaned irritably and had to quickly grab his books, before Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle threw themselves down in the armchairs, Vincent with his feet on the table and Gregory with sprinkly cupcakes all over his lap.

Vincent gave a loud nasty laugh when he saw the little boys hurrying away with their schoolbooks, casting angry looks over their shoulders. The little bastards should learn to respect those older than you – Vincent was firm on that, just as his dad was at home.

"Mate, you dropped one," said Vincent, who just discovered this. He nodded towards a cupcake on the floor. _Of course Greg, the stupid troll, picks it up... _Gregory returned to his chair while munching it, a pleased and happy expression on his face. Vincent knew how much Greg loved cupcakes – his favourite time of the day was after dinner when he and Vincent went down to the kitchen and persuaded the House-elves to provide them with chocolate cakes and those sweet little cupcakes with pink icing and loads of sprinkles (well, Vincent did the persuading, naturally).

Although, Vincent reckoned, it had gone too far when he had to witness his best friend laying stiff and sleepless in his bed at night, listening to the other boys' snores, with only one thing in his head – cupcakes, looking positively bothered. And it had most definitely gone too far when he thereafter crept, trying to not wake anyone, out of the dorm, up through the dungeons to the dark Entrance Hall, and down the stairs towards the kitchens in only his pair of pyjamas, waking the House-Elves to demand they give him a few of the lovely pastries. Yet later when he would be tucked into his bed once more, munching his muffins, then he would look like it was completely worth it – well-pleased and with pink cupcakes all over his chest, sighing blissfully.

This day had passed by in a haze of tiredness for the other Slytherins, who had been up studying into late hours the previous night. Their amount of homework after only a couple of days back in school was shocking. Everyone besides Vincent, Gregory, Zabini and Nott spent this afternoon sleeping. Zabini had thrown together his essay in about 15 minutes, and had then run off. Vincent had no idea to where – he always lurked in deserted corridors doing Merlin knows what. And Nott wasn't tired because he was _used_ to studying loads so he wasn't quite as dramatical as Malfoy and Pansy and the rest, and Vincent reckoned he was clever too; that he worked quickly. The reason as to why Vincent and Gregory weren't tired was that they hadn't studied at all.

When would the knowledge of stuff you learn in History ever come to use in his life? The Dark Lord wouldn't care if you had written that essay or not.

Vincent saw his future quite plainly planned out.

"Le's do some'in fun," said Greg while some crumbs fell out of his mouth.

An hour later, they were bored again. Bullying younger students in some random deserted corridor and taking their sweets was only fun for so long.

They returned to the common room, unsure of what to do. Malfoy was at prefects' rounds with Parkinson, so he wasn't around to guide them. Vincent would convince himself that he did _not _follow Malfoy around like a smitten puppy, like Greg did – but at times like these, when Malfoy's presence was absent, he realised he didn't know what to do.


	3. Magic is Might

_Better Be Slyherin_  
III

The next night, they were to have a small party in the Slytherin commonroom; Malfoy's idea, naturally. Apparantly he reckoned school had not gotten "serious" yet. Gregory Goyle did not really understand why they had to have party, but he supposed he was just strange for not realising in what way parties were fun. He knew he'd just sit there sipping on his butterbeer and nobody would talk to him.

But he followed Malfoy's wishes.

There was a secret way out from Hogwarts behind a portrait of Gregory the Smary in the corridor furthest away on the seventh floor, and that was where they – he, Vincent, Malfoy, Pansy and Zabini were going. When Pansy saw it, she grinned evilly.

"Haha, _Gregory the Smarmy_, isn't that you, Goyle?" she commented.

Malfoy sniggered, and Zabini smiled a small crooked smile, his eyes glimmering scornfully.

Gregory replied nothing. Without haughty Zabini around, the mood between them was usually all right. But whenever Zabini was with them, Malfoy had that competetive attitude as if he had to show Zabini his right place. And then he took it out on Gregory through sarcastic comments. Pansy did the same, content with not being the chosen one for all of it.

They walked through a dark, chilly tunnel in the ground. It smelled mildly of dirt and maggots. Then they reached Hogsmeade. Gregory supposed they were there to get drinks for the night, but he was never sure because he was not included. He and Vincent were always to wait by the entrance of the tunnel until Malfoy came back. Gregory didn't know how he got the drinks, because he was fairly sure that you couldn't buy alcohol if you were their age; but he did not ask questions. He was used to following Malfoy around – and when Malfoy was not there to follow, he followed Vincent instead.

Vincent was the product of an unhealthy childhood and no mother's love. Gregory was the opposite. He'd actually had a, at least from own experience,_ normal _childhood. No violence, no high society, no haughtiness like he would imagine his friends' families behaved like. His parents loved him properly, even though he was a little slow.

Naturally, Gregory could understand Vincent on some levels. He was, irregardless, his best friend. Vincent had been abandoned by his mum. He barely had – barely could understand – _feelings_. He wanted to be a Death Eater, and followed Malfoy because that was the easiest way to get there, or that's at least what Gregory supposed Vincent's dad had told his son.

And they had been raised to obey.

It was just a rule of habit, they were accustomed to it. Like the previous day, they'd had their first Defense lesson and of course, Malfoy, outspoken as he was, made it his business to inform everyone what his opinions on Umbridge was. And since Malfoy talked well of her, then Gregory was to do that as well. He was not even told to, he just knew it. He had faith in Malfoy.

The commonroom was unusually warm for being positioned in the dungeons. Probably because of all the people. The Weird Sisters' music was playing on the gramophone, a few people were up dancing in the greenish light they had down there, a few couples were snogging in the sofas. Most of the people were just hanging out, talking.

It was a bit later that night and the party had started. Gregory was sitting with Vincent and a couple of older quite tipsy chaps from the team, Miles Bletchley and Caecus Warrington. Swigged some butterbeer, and had a quite dull time. It was just as it always was.

Slytherin Quidditch team captain, Graham Montague, threw himself into the armchair next to them. "What are you doing sitting, you tossers? I saw you chatting some fat bird up, Goyle." He was slightly sneering. "Well, yeah, you're more likely to get some from someone like that, aren't you, I mean, when you look like you."

Gregory had only exchanged a couple of words to fellow house-mate Millicent Bulstrode about Snape's essay, not to mention how he reckoned Montague was not exactly one to pass out judgements on firm builts even though he may be quidditch captain, but Gregory didn't have to make that big of an effort to ignore the comment or explain himself, because Malfoy, Zabini and Adrian Pucey just arrived and Montague's attention was transferred. Gregory wasn't really listening, he acknowledged they were talking about girls, which ones who looked fit tonight, but he didn't care and was left out of the conversation as he had supposed.

It was exactly as he'd known it would be.

Warrington mentioned something about Pansy, and they started talking about her.

"She's well fit, isn't she, not necessarily her face, but her body..." Warrington grinned. "I'd have a go on her."

He looked over at Pansy and slightly smirked, rolled his lips and gave a small wistle. Gregory noticed that Malfoy, sitting leaning forward, looked disapprovingly at Warrington, who didn't notice, and Malfoy looked away, apparantly adopting a passive role in this topic: he was unusually quiet and did not say much in the matter. Gregory reckoned Malfoy didn't like it when other boys talked about his girl mate like that (she was the only one he had, which meant she was supposedly special, although Gregory knew he and Vincent were Malfoy's best friends, and he and Pansy had only just begun becoming closer as friends).

Pansy was on the other side of the room with her girlfriends. Warrington winked at her, Pansy grinned a bit and gave him a slightly flirty look. Gregory couldn't help but to think that he wanted that too – not with _Pansy, _because she was too mean, but with _any _girl. He wanted girls to think he was fit and he wanted to simply interact with a girl. Not that he would ever admit that to any of the lads.

And if he hadn't been so busy thinking about girls he might've noticed Malfoy's face expression when Pansy gave Warrington that look.

"Where's my Butterbeer gone?" asked Warrington angrily when he turned back.

The lads then tried to convince Gregory to go over and pull a girl (he reckoned the main reason they wanted him to do it was for their entertainment of seeing him rejected). He did not answer, he just looked away, which only got them more enthusiastic; evil, but as if they did not think that was noticable.

"What about her?" said Malfoy and jerked his head in her direction.

"Yeah, go on, go have a chat with her!"

Gregory tried to wave it off.

"Yeah, she's fit. Really," he grunted, watching the low-browed blonde dancing with her friends.

"Right, yeah, and," grinned Vaisey, a teammate, "Looks like she's had quite a bit to drink, as well. So you might just get something."

Gregory did not reply. Malfoy was sipping his Firewhiskey in his armchair, watching everyone dancing, looking rather content with life.

Finally, after more persuading, Gregory was sick of it and just wanted to go to bed. So he gave in and walked over to try to talk to her.

"Go and get 'em. Show 'em who's boss," urged him Bletchley when he got up, supressing laughter as if Gregory would not notice.. Gregory was proper sweating on the way over. Just to say 'hi' was embarrassing, he wanted to sink through the ground.

"All right?" he said, and tried smiling a little. He suppose he just looked scary, because the girl looked at him with a frown.

And to try to keep a conversation going was even more embarrassing.

And then someone stumbled into him from behind, and his entire Butterbeer was all over her blouse and she cried out.

Of course the lads were completely wrapped up in their fits of laughter when he returned. Malfoy was lying on the floor clutching his stomach, laughing. Even haughty Zabini had a small crooked smile on his lips.

Of course they'd seen that her white blouse had turned see-through and that Gregory unwillingly had reacted to that. Naturally, the girl was shocked and barked disgustedly "get the buggering hell away from me, you filth!" as her friends tried not to laugh out loud, and instead just stood there with their scornful smiles, whispering.

It was not like the music stopped and the whole room stopped and stared and pointed at laughted at him; everything went on as usualy, it was just the girl's friends who had seen. And... of course, his mates who would taunt him immediately because he "had a pop".

"That's all right," said Vaisey when they'd stopped laughing. "I've slung one up her myself," he said, sharing too much detail and Gregory really felt he did not want to know any more.

"I'm going to bed," he said and got up slowly.

He didn't get a goodnight.


	4. Quidditch Fever

_Better Be Slytherin_  
IV

The following few days came as rainy and chilly as the previous ones. The dull weather and the drowning of homework made them all exhausted and weary, but the Slytherins still found ways to have fun; Draco tipped off Filch that Harry Potter was in possession of a large collection of Dungbombs that he was storing in the Gryffindor Tower – Draco and his class-mates found it hilarious.

The entire school was in whispering confusedness – was Potter a complete nutter claiming that the Dark Lord was back, or was it indeed true? Nobody knew for sure of course, and since the Ministry and the Prophet explained in detail how he and Headmaster Dumbledore as well, were indeed of their rockers, they were prone to believe it. Draco himself knew of course – his father had told him back in June about the Dark Lord having returned, but failing to mention how Potter was involved. Although, one alternative did not rule out the other one – the Dark Lord _was_ back, not to say that Potter was _not_ a nutter, Draco thought.

Both professors Flitwick and McGonagall preached for a long time at the start of their double-periods on Wednesday about the importance of the OWLs – how they affected your future and that you already had to start planning what you wanted to do after Hogwarts, and work hard for it. Draco simply snorted at that. There was no reason to get all stressed out, at least not for him. Luckily, he was not poor.

But as they practiced Vanishing spells in Transfiguration that afternoon and even Pansy sneered at his less than mediocre attempts, he reckoned he might actually be forced to study this year. It irritated him sometimes that he did not have very clever friends: he was stuck with Gregory and Vincent who each year kept surprising him that their marks had made them pass (he really did not know how they did it) and Pansy who was not exactly the sharpest knife in the box, even if she was a laugh. This just meant he could not count on his friends to take notes or do homework for him to copy later, so naturally he had to do it all himself. Of course, Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini were both clever, but they would never let him copy them.

The day had turned windy and cold, and as they walked down the sloping lawn towards their Care of Magical Creatures lecture at the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest they felt a few raindrops on their faces.

"Ah," said Draco, sighing blissfully to his company of Vincent, Gregory, Theodore, Blaise and Pansy and her girlfriends. "Can't tell you how much I love that that _oaf_ Hagrid isn't here this year! Perhaps we'll actually _learn _something this year, and without being in mortal peril, for once..."

His housemates all laughed and Potter looked back at them, the nosy git – probably thought they were laughing about him, Draco thought. _As if the world revolved around him_!

They gathered around a table where their substitute teacher from the previous year, professor Grubbly-Plank was standing.

"Everyone here?" she said with a loud voice and a smile as they all gathered around. "Let's crack on then. Who can tell me what these things are called?"

She pointed towards the pile of twigs in front of her and naturally Hermione Granger's hand immediately flew into the air. _Bloody know-it-all. _Draco made an impression of her, making his teeth big while jumping up and down, mockingly eager to answer the question. Gregory and Vincent sniggered, while Pansy gave an high-pitched laughter which almost immediately turned into a shriek as thetwigs on the table flew up into the air and turned out to be alive; some sort of tiny wooden creatures.

Professor Grubbly-Plank finished instructing them, and they all went to grab a Bowtruckle each. Draco remotely heard a voice asking their professor the whereabouts of the oaf, Hagrid, and he immediately looked up. He felt a smirk creep up on his face; it was Potter, naturally. He knew what his father's friends were off doing, and where, and that they had seen Hagrid there – his father had told him. Enjoying the feeling of knowing he knew more than Potter, he felt a yearning to tease his foe slightly. He hurried to move nearer Potter.

"Maybe the stupid great oaf's got himself badly injured," he mumbled so only Potter would hear him, as he grabbed one of the Bowtruckles. His classmate reacted exactly as he had hoped.

"Maybe you will if you don't shut up," muttered Potter threateningly. Draco rolled his eyes.

"Maybe he's been messing with stuff that's too _big_ for him, if you get my drift."

Draco turned to leave, grinning over his shoulder at Potter knowing he would not have a clue what Draco was on about. That felt good. He approached his house-mates and placed himself on the ground, getting slightly irritated that he was last and therefore could not choose a better spot. He muttered about not wanting to get dirty, complaining about sitting on the ground, and sent Pansy who was sitting on a stone looking down on them all, a nasty glance. Her lip curled smugly.

Not focusing at all on his assignment, he instead looked at Potter and his friends a bit further away. He narrowed his eyes, and began smiling. Oh, how he loved making Potter's life miserable. He made sure his fellow Slytherins were listening to him as he began speaking. Gregory was grinning maliciously.

"Yes, father was talking to the Minister just a couple of days ago, you know, and it sounds as though the Ministry's really determined to crack down on substandard teaching in this place. So even if that overgrown moron does show up again, he'll probably be sent packing straight away."

Vincent and Gregory started laughing, and got even more excited as an exclaim of pain were heard from the Gryffindors, and they looked over to see that Potter's Bowtruckle was running off towards the edge of the forest, after by the look of it have bitten him. Draco joined in his friends' laughter. His life was indeed brilliant.

The first days at Hogwarts went on, and their teachers had them not only working harder than ever on lectures, but also handed out homework every single day. It kept on raining and the sky was filled with a thick layer of clouds, creating a sense of gloominess around the castle, but as the week ended and Saturday came round it ceased and the sun actually peeked out.

The clouds were swirling around with glimpses of blue behind them. Draco was sleepily sitting stirring his teacup with his head supported on his hand, as he was looking up into the magical ceiling. The Great Hall was stuffed with babbly students having breakfast, which was something Draco could not handle right then – _too early_. The week had passed by quickly – the never-ending homework and lectures were extremely wearying, even though they had only been back at Hogwarts for six days.

Graham Montague came over followed by his mates Philip Vaisey, Caecus Warrington and Adrian Pucey.

"Oi, Malfoy!" the Slytherin Quidditch team-captain called out."Won't be any tryouts today; we'll have to do it tomorrow instead, yeah. Spread it to the rest of the team if you see 'em."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "Yeah, why?" he grunted.

"Sodding Gryffindor's havin' their first practice," replied Montague uninterestedly. "Don't forget – tomorrow morning, yeah?"

Draco lightened up. "Gryffindor's practicing this morning?"

"Tha's what I said, innit."

Draco started smirking. He suggested they'd go down and watch the Gryffindors – get a chance to laugh at Potter was never wrong! The other boys were in immediately.

Vincent and Gregory who sat by Draco eating dutifully, were naturally in as well. Montague and the rest continued on to let the rest of the team know all the change of plans.

Draco, Vincent and Gregory finished their breakfast and about ten minutes later when they were on their way out of the Great Hall, Draco saw Pansy babbling with her friends by the table, and when he hastily he mentioned where they were going, she came along.

On the way out of the Great Hall, Draco looked over to the Gryffindor table and smirked at Potter and Weasley, feeling content.

They left the crowded Great Hall, going out into the Magnificent entrance hall, out of the gates, out to Hogwarts grounds. The view was actually rather okay – he could actually like Hogwarts at certain times. All they could see was green-brown hills, the treetops of the Forbidden Forest, the muddy Quidditch pitch and the dark lake.

"You've heard the Weasel got picked as Keeper, haven't you?" he threw at Pansy, whom he supposed weren't very updated in the situation. Her face lit up and she smiled maliciously.

"You can't be serious?"

He smiled contently.

They went down to the pitch, chattering evilly about Potter and his rubbish team. They reached the Quidditch pitch and settled down on the stands. The Slytherin Quidditch team, himself, Vincent, Gregory, Miles Bletchley, Graham Montague, Adrian Pucey, and Caecus Warrington, were accompanied by Philip Vaisey, Callum Yulley and James Yardley as well as Pansy, and they were all spread out in groups on the empty stands. They had a lovely chat until the Gryffindor team arrived. Seeing them entering the pitch, the Slytherins hastily erupted in whistles and shouts. It echoed around the stadium.

"This year just keeps getting better and better!" Draco called out loudly to his friends. "I mean, not only was that _Weasel _made prefect, but he actually made the house-team as well. It's like they _want _him to embarrass himself! I almost pity him," he grinned, to appreciative laughs from Miles, Adrian, Vincent, Gregory and Pansy.

"And what is that, a Cleansweep?" Draco went on, giving a derisive laugh. "What's that Weasley's riding?" he shouted loudly, wanting the Gryffindor team and especially Weasley himself to not be able to escape hearing him. "Why would anyone put a flying charm on a mouldy old log like that?"

His friends shrieked with laughter, while Weasley certainly looked bothered even though _Saint Potter _mumbled something to him, by the look of it encouraging. The Gryffindor team gathered and their captain began speaking to them all, completely ignoring Draco and the rest, but to his entertainment, Pansy interrupted her by shouting: "Hey, Johnson, what's with that hairstyle, anyway? Why would anyone want to look like they've got worms coming out of their head?"

The Slytherins all laughed, while the Gryffindors only kept ignoring them. They began passing the Quarrel round – Weasley dropped it. Draco and the rest shouted of laughter. The Gryffindors kept on acting like nothing and went on.

"Hey, Potter, how's your scar feeling?" Draco called out. "Sure you don't need a lie down? It must be, what, a whole week since you were in the hospital wing, that's a record for you, isn't it?"

Potter only ignored him, but Draco did not care. They kept laughing whenever Weasley did something clumsy, which seemed to be all the time. Why in Merlin's name would he have been accepted on the team? If he's the best Gryffindor's got, then the Slytherins were sure to win the cup, Draco thought contently. Weasley just was not cut out for Quidditch, Draco thought, sneering.

They all had a lovely time openly mocking the Gryffindors for an hour or so. He enjoyed it when everyone laughed at his jokes. It went as far as that Ron Weasley hit another teammate with the Quaffle. That was funny as well. They sang their song about the Gryffindors being losers, and with self-content grin he enjoyed the feeling of knowing he had managed to ruin their day, just as he had planned.

The Gryffindors had their fits and finally left the pitch. The sun had just gone down behind one of the mountains, so it was getting a little darker. They hung out there for a while, but eventually, most of the Slytherin team left as well.

It was the four of them left; Draco, Pansy, Vincent and Gregory. The two oafs did nothing but to beg to go back to the castle, so Draco told them to "leave, then!"

Vincent grunted something Draco did not hear, and they climbed down the stand.

Not until they were actually alone did Draco realise that they were _actually alone_. That could be rather awkward.

Luckily it wasn't. Pansy babbled on about something, new robes she'd bought and gossip her friends had just told her. Draco mostly nodded in response.

It was Sunday morning and Draco was sitting at the Slytherin table having breakfast with Vincent and Gregory. Luckily enough Sunday came as another clear, beautiful day. The last day of leisure.

He finished breakfast and made his way out of the castle, followed by Vincent and Gregory. It was a clear and sunny late-summer day, but with a clear chill in the air. The grounds were green and the view, he could not deny it, was spectacular.

They got down to the stadium where Graham Montague and the two others left from the old team –Miles Bletchley and Caecus Warrington – were waiting.

Montague did it like they always did in Slytherin. He kept the old players – himself, Draco, Bletchley, Pucey and Warrington; exchanged the beater spots from Peregrine Derrick and Lucian Bole who had finished school and put Vincent and Gregory in their place; and finally added horse-teethed Adrian Pucey as their new third chaser. All of this took about fifteen minutes (he only had to see Pucey try-out – Vincent and Gregory got in trough plain persuasion from Draco's side); Draco felt pleased not having to try-out again; he had just only woken up, hadn't he?

The Slytherin team was scheduled for hard training right after that, not wasting any time. Draco was surprised of the eagerness and aggressiveness of Montague, who as a chaser had probably been the least pushy one. This bloke really wanted to win. His ambition rubbed off and made Draco work harder. His own job was rather simple – he just had to stay in the air looking out for the small golden Snitch, not at all getting dirty or getting into fights because of a Bludger that "mistakenly" or "_that was intentional!"_ hit one of the other team-mates.

Ah, sighed Draco, life was good.

The weekend ended and lessons started again and Professor Umbridge was reported as "High Inquisitor". Draco read the article about it in the Daily Prophet – he smirked as he read the part about the "deficient education" and he strongly agreed. He reckoned it would be interesting to watch the other teachers get their inspections from Umbridge. He was hoping that finally something would be done about this school. Umbridge seemed like the right person to fix these errors.

Lessons went on in a blur; Draco was so bored that he nearly fell asleep several times. Both Quidditch practice and homework kept piling up, which was a bother, Draco reckoned. Along with his prefect badge forcing him to patrol every bloody night – although he did find himself perfect for the job. He had not even been surprised when he had received the badge. Well, who else? Vincent or Gregory would hardly fit any criteria not to mention that they weren't exactly authoritarian – or Blaise Zabini? Draco could laugh.

Draco was having problems with the Transfiguration homework McGonagall had assigned them with. He wished the stupid ruddy mice would just vanish already! He supposed the Mudblood Granger was probably vanishing elephants by that time (pity she wouldn't vanish herself, Draco thought). On top of it all, Pansy managed her homework well before he did; he'd liked to vanish that smirk right off her stupid face.

Umbridge began inspecting the teachers, which had her coming to a few lectures, and one Tuesday she inspected their Care of Magical Creatures period, and Draco thought disappointedly that it had been perfect if she had inspected it when the oaf, Hagrid had come back instead!

Umbridge walked about the students, asking them about the lecture. Then she turned to Gregory, and said: "I've heard students have gotten hurt in this class, is that correct?"

Goyle began grinning, but Draco hurried to answer: "That was me; I was ripped to pieces by a Hippogriff."

"A Hippogriff?" said Umbridge, writing feverishly on her board.

"Only because he was too stupid to listen to what Hagrid told him to do," came Potters angry voice. Draco looked up. He just didn't know when to keep his mouth shut, did he? Umbridge slowly turned to look at Draco's classmate. "Another night of detention, I think," she said before she abruptly left. Draco felt a huge smile spreading on his lips.

She started to grow on him.

One morning a couple of days later, they all woke up to find all of the notice boards filled with messages of a new rule of Umbridge's – no teams or clubs were allowed whatsoever at Hogwarts.

When Draco saw it, he snorted, frowning, and did not give it a second glance – why should he care that some bloody first-years weren't allowed to play Gobstones anymore? He commented so to his surroundings of Vincent, Gregory and Pansy who all murmured in agreement, but he was interrupted by the voice of Graham Montague from behind them.

"Are you daft?" the latter accused as Draco turned to face him. Draco narrowed his eyes. "It goes for Quidditch as well, course. We've got to ask permission to escape the rule, or we'll have no choice but to stop playing!"

Suddenly Draco lit up, and a few images of himself laughing politely along with Umbridge, his teammates seeing that he got their permission back looking at him with admiration, and a big Captain's badge shining on his robes, passed by in his mind and suddenly he knew exactly what to do. He pushed his way through the disgruntled common room and made his way to their new High Inquisitor's office.

On his way down to the dungeons, surrounded by Vincent, Gregory, Pansy and the rest, Draco told them contently about how he simply made his way through professor Umbridge's office to ask if she could approve of Slytherin's Quidditch team's existence. How she had invited him in for a cup of tea and small-talked with him, asking him what he felt about the school and the teachers and the headmaster. And, naturally, they had got back their permission to play – Draco had made that sure; leaving Umbridge's office with a signed document – achieving it all in about fifteen minutes. He felt outermost content, and made sure to tell his classmates that.

They all left for Potions down in the dungeons, all the while Draco was proudly describing how he had gotten the permission back, waving the parchment in everybody's face, and when he saw Potter, Weasley and Granger coming down the stairs he felt even better about himself.

He took the opportunity to speak loud enough for his enemies to hear clearly what he had to say. "Yeah, Umbridge gave the Slytherin Quidditch team permission to continue playing straightaway, I went to ask her first thing this morning. Well, it was pretty automatic, I mean, she knows my father really well – he's always popping in and out of the Ministry... It'll be interesting to see whether Gryffindor are allowed to keep playing, won't it?"

Vincent, Gregory and Pansy snigger heartily, and Draco sends a smug glance towards Potter. Both the latter and the Weasel are watching him hard-set with their fists clenched. The Mudblood whispered something to the both, but it did not seem to make them calmer.

"I mean," Draco went on, encouraged by their reactions, his eyes focused on Potter and Weasley, "if it's a question of influence with the Ministry, I don't think they've got much chance... from what my father says, they've been looking for an excuse to sack Arthur Weasley for years... and as for Potter... my father says it's a matter of time before the Ministry has him carted off to St. Mungo's... Apparently they've got a special ward for people whose brains have been addled by magic."

Vincent and Gregory grunted in laughter and Pansy shrieked of cheerfulness when Draco made a horrible grimace with a limp gaping mouth and rolling eyes. But suddenly, before he had time to register what was happening, something rushed forward towards him and in a split second it pushed past Gregory and tried punching his face. Pansy cried out. It was Neville Longbottom, Draco confusedly realised as Potter held his friend back. He was punching his fists in the air, trying to get to Draco, who hastily backed off, shocked. _Longbottom? That great lump?_ As Potter pulled a murderous-looking Longbottom back, Vincent and Gregory stepped in front of him and clenching their arms, ready to attack. Everyone around seemed to be in shock. Potter continued to remove Longbottom, with additional help from Weasley. Longbottom was shaking with anger and trying to get words out but it seemed to be a babbling mess, because nothing could be made out.

Suddenly Snape was there (Draco immediately felt safer), and reprimanded his enemies.

"Fighting, Potter, Weasley, Longbottom? Ten points from Gryffindor. Release Longbottom, Potter, or it'll be detention. Inside, all of you."

Pansy was gaping at Draco, as shocked as him, before they went inside and sat down at the front and brought out their books. Their fellow students were whispering about the scene that had just occurred, but when Snape slammed the door shut and turned to the class, it ceased immediately and the room became as silent as the grave.

Professor Umbridge was there for evaluation of the class, and kept questioning Snape who seemed to get frustrated but Draco could hardly focus on that, even when she was right by their table asking Pansy questions on the lectures and their teacher (on which she naturally answered approvingly). He kept glancing towards Longbottom whose breathing did not slow down until well into the lesson.

The week went on and Draco could not well focus on Longbottom and Potter's mad behaviour, since both school work and Quidditch were piling up. The upcoming match between Slytherin and Gryffindor was the most popular topic for conversation in the common room.

The first visit to Hogsmeade was planned on that Saturday. It was a clear but windy morning, and after breakfast they all formed a line in the Entrance Hall where Filch controlled that they had permission to go. Then they went down to the village. He was with Vincent and Gregory, looking through the shops, walking around, it was rather dull if he were to be honest – it was a bloody village, what could you possibly do? He'd rather go to London on his weekends, Draco thought and snorted. Pansy was with her gang of Slytherin girls, and he never saw her. He could never know where Theodore Nott and Zabini were – they were always sneaking off somewhere doing Merlin knows what by their respective lonesome. Life at school was, indeed, Draco reckoned, boring.

"Remember, no magic in the corridors!" shouted Flitwick, pointlessly trying to make the students listen to him, after them as lecture ended and everyone scraped together their belonging and lunged out of the Charms classroom for lunch the following Monday.

"Oh, please, of course you'll win," Pansy ensured Miles Bletchley ten minutes later. The Great Hall was vivid and loud, the Slytherin table all talking about the upcoming match between them and Gryffindor. Malfoy was a couple seats away, eating his stew and leading a conversation with Vincent.

"You think so, eh?" smirked Bletchley, obviously not in need of validation from anybody.

"Definitely," Pansy went on, waving with her hand as if the matter was nothing.

"I mean the chances of us loosing..." pondered Caecus Warrington "Sure, they've got Potter, but we've got this lad," he punched Bletchley in the back appreciatively. Pansy smiled appreciatively.

"I would rather trust Snape to send Potter a Valentine, honestly, the _Gryffindorks_ will not win," declared Pansy firmly.

"WARRINGTON! Give that bat back to Goyle and return to your sodding hoops!" roared Montague with a raspy voice. The rain was pouring down over the dark and muddy Quidditch pitch. The wind was so powerful that it nearly put Draco out of course when he hovered upwards in the search for something he imagined had been the Snitch. He ignored whatever was happening around him; how Bletchley, furiously bellowing that he was going to kill him, was shooting Bludgers towards Warrington while Montague was roaring at them both.

"Oi! You bloody git, what did you do that for?!" he distantly heard Pucey's squeaky voice, who apparently had been hit as well; whether it was by accident or not, he could never know with these lads. Their practices were both wearying and dangerous. Perhaps their team-play and focus were not the best, but at matches it was completely different – that was when their loyalty and team spirit came forth.

Draco was irritated. They seemed to always have their practices when the weather was a bloody disaster – when it was jet-black and raining and the pitch muddy and the grass slippery. _Ugh._ He had been excited for practice because he was so excited to win the game, and all day he had not cared that there was stormy weather outside and that everything was wet – it had been cosy being inside in an armchair in front of the fireplace in their common room. He had had a brilliant mood all day, mainly because the Gryffindors had cancelled their practice because of the weather and Montague had grasped the opportunity and booked the Slytherin team a hard training.

According to Pansy, Draco did not look as happy when he returned to the common room a couple of hours later with Vincent and Gregory by his sides, as soaking wet as Draco himself.

He groaned and sighed and sank down into the sofa and smelled of sweat and complained about how muddy he was and about muscle soreness and torture.

"Montague put together a bloody workout _after _the real practice," said Draco, exhausted and slightly whingy. "So after an hour and a half of riding around in the pouring rain, he had us all do push-ups and the likes, while he was walking about giving us instructions. While we were lying in the mud! He's absolutely mental..."

Pansy saw very little of Malfoy the following few days. That night it was time for Prefect patrols and he was nowhere to be seen. She was sitting by the fireplace with Daphne Greengrass, Tracey Davis, Millicent Bulstrode and Queenie Wilkes, trying to write their Potions-essay, but they were easily distracted by one another. Finally Malfoy jogged into the common room forty minutes late, panting and with messy hair and searched for her with his eyes.

"Pansy, let's go," he breathed out, stressed.

"Merlin," she said, frowning, "you've been sweaty every single time I've seen you the last few days."

"Yeah, Montague's putting together these workouts," replied Malfoy as his panting started to fade, "Are you coming or what?"

"Get a bloody shower first!"

He gave her a sarcastic, crooked smile and jogged out of the common room.

"_...besides_ the regular practices on the field, which we're having almost every day... As well as he's forcing us to run half an hour every day. I've thought about strangling him in his sleep more than once... "

They were walking up from the dungeons, halfway into their patrol. Pansy laughed in the pause of his story, and then he continued, "But you know, he wants us to be in shape for the match, and we all want to win, so..."

"Yeah, of course. You've really got to win. I can't stand the Gryffindors' self-righteousness any longer..."

Malfoy looked at her with the hint of a smirk. "I'll try."

A couple of weeks passed when Snape had booked the Quidditch pitch as often as possible for the team to prepare for the match, and the Slytherins and Gryffindors all taunted each other in hope of making the other team nervous before the match. Bletchley cursed one of the Gryffindor chasers in the library and they all swore they saw nothing when asked by professor McGonagall; Pansy passed Potter in the corridors and sneered that Warrington would throw him off his broom Saturday; Peregrine Derrick, Philip Vaisey, Linus Urquhart and Darius Berrow all mocked Ron Weasley to the point where he looked mentally broken down, especially after Malfoy's usual charade of dropping a Quaffle every time they ran into each other.

The spirits in the Slytherin common room was high. Draco, and his team-mates, knew they were going to win the Cup. They could feel it, despite how short into the school-year they had come thus far.

"As long as King Weasel keeps embarrassing himself the way he's done up till now, we'll easily outscore Gryffindor," said Miles Bletchley excitedly. "Despite Goyle being the worst bloody Beater in all of Britain!" he added to the amusement of his team-mates. Adrian Pucey laughed slowly with a sly look, showing his horse-teeth.

"Oh, yes, finally, the Cup shall go to Slytherin," Draco said, leaning back in his armchair, feeling quite content of himself. "I caught the Snitch within, what, five minutes tonight at practice. And I might add it was dark and raining!"

Though no one congratulated him or looked at him admirably (Miles Bletchley merely sent a sniggering look at Quidditch captain Graham Montague), Draco smiled merrily.

October ended with whistling wind and constant rain, and November came, cold as ice. Down in the dungeons, it was so freezing that Pansy needed to sleep with not only her pink flannel pyjamas but with double blankets and teal socks on. Living in the dungeons was inhumane this time of year.

It was the night before the match and Draco and Pansy were down in the boys' dorm, fully occupied with an, according to them, brilliant idea. It had just come to them while they were lounging around the common room, making jokes at that Weasel's Quidditch skills expense, when Pansy said: "He'll make sure we win if he keeps on playing like that."

"Let's hope he does. It's like he's playing for our side for Merlin's sake!" Draco said and Pansy laughed. He smirked. "Perhaps he wants us to cheer for him."

Pansy laughed again. "Let's do that Saturday! _Go, Weasley, miss that one again, you're doing so well, yeah_!" she mocked. They both laughed.

Then it had hit him. "We should do a song!"

They praised their idea straight away – Pansy wanted to take credit for it as well, claiming that she had a part in it as well, by making Draco think of it – but Draco knew he had been the one with the revelation. Yet he let her think so.

They got to work on the lyrics straight away – they couldn't find anything to rhyme with "ugly ginger face" which was really too bad, in Draco's opinion, because he would've liked to bring out that fact strongly. Instead they were able to fit in that he was born in a bin, which was important as well. The next thing was to make badges that they would make all the other Slytherins wear, as well as teach them the lyrics. When Draco or Pansy wanted something, it happened.

"Hold it still," said Draco focused, through pressed lips – but Pansy could not stop laughing. "Pansy!"

"Sorry," she laughed.

"You're going to ruin the whole thing!" he said but he could not help but to start laughing as well.

"_That's why Slytherins all sing_," sang Pansy in a mumble.

"I've got it now!" exclaimed Draco. He had transformed the badges to take on an crown-shaped form and managed to put writing on them as well. They now read 'WEASLEY IS OUR KING'. "Merlin, are we brilliant, or what?" he added with a self-satisfied smirk.

Pansy only laughed. "_Born in a bin_... Didn't know you could rhyme that well."

"Same to you. We are geniuses, in fact!" Not often could Pansy spot the same blissful happiness in Malfoy's eyes.

"How do I look?" Pansy beamed mischievously, holding up the badge over the robe on her chest.

"It's brilliant," he breathed, smirking and feeling very satisfied.

"Do you want to go hand them out to the others?"

"All right, so everyone knows what we'll do tomorrow?" said Pansy loudly, with a huge smile on her lips. The crowd assured her and then just before Draco went into his dorm, he called out: "Who's our king?!"

"Weasley!" the Slytherins cheered. He could hear Pansy laughing heartily as the door shut behind him. He slept well that night. Victory was upon them, he could feel it. He praised his cleverness once again.

Victory would most certainly be theirs, Draco thought smugly as he finished his breakfast, his heart beating fast with adrenaline. Montague spent the entire breakfast talking tactics and telling them to "just go for it"; the Slytherins had never been this set on winning. They would show those Gryffindors, by Merlin, they would.

There was a lovely feeling around the Slytherin table, or so Draco reckoned – not only the team were excited, but almost all of their house-mates were as well (except Theodore Nott and the likes – he simply did not care, and Draco could not possibly understand why. House spirit and loyalty was definitely something Nott had never heard of). Several Slytherins from the year above were practicing the lyrics for Draco and Pansy's song about Weasley while having their breakfast, Draco noticed, feeling very content.

He cast a glance over to the Gryffindor table and after seeking for him among the crowded table, he found Ron Weasley who was looking sickly nervous, much to his expectation (and appreciation).

Draco was feeling well. Very well, to be exact. It was a beautiful morning; he was well fed and had been training for this day for weeks. The team was in top shape – even his faithful two friends had been trained to hit Bludgers in the right direction. His and Pansy's brilliant example of a song had been taught to almost the entire Slytherin house. Everything was lovely.

"Are you excited?" Pansy asked him with her crooked smile, spreading pumpkin marmalade on her toast.

He rolled his eyes, smiling. "You've got no idea. It'll feel so good, finally putting Potter and the likes in their rightful place... In the mud!"

He and Pansy laughed heartily at that, until Graham Montague interrupted them.

"Getting a bit cosy with my Seeker, are we, Parkinson?"

Pansy rolled her eyes, and Graham continued: "Big boys are talking tactics now," in a rejecting manner.

"Vince, Greg, come on," said Draco ten minute later as the team were leaving. He glanced back at his classmates and fellow house-mates. They were all wearing his and Pansy's badges, and cheered the team on as they left.

"It doesn't matter if you win or lose – what matters is that _I _win!" Draco was firmly explaining to Graham Montague on the way down to the pitch, over the green hill. He was fed up with the constant babbling of his captain.

"We're on the same bloody team, Malfoy!" Graham scoffed.

"He means over Potter," Adrian Pucey interjected, stating the obvious, according to Draco, who only rolled his eyes. Gregory gave a grunting laugh.

"Tosser," muttered Caecus Warrington.

The day was chilly and clear – it was perfect weather for Quidditch. _This is it_, thought Draco as he watched the Gryffindor team come out of the changing room on the other side of the pitch. The crowd was already roaring and cheering – the Slytherin vs. Gryffindor match was always exciting because of the rivalry. Draco spotted Potter and smirked and patted the badge on his chest. He knew it aggravated Potter. Montague and the Gryffindor captain, Jones, shook hands. Draco's heart was beating quickly with adrenaline and he could barely stay on the ground, and finally Hooch blew her whistle and they all lifted from the ground, quickly and forcefully.

Draco flew higher as the game began. He immediately started searching for the Snitch and noted Potter doing the same on the opposite end of the Pitch. A Bludger flew past him with just a few centimetres and he felt the rush of wind by his cheek as he dodged it. He avoided the rest of the players and flew even higher. Below him, he saw Pucey flying in for the hoops, violently shoving the Quaffle towards Weasley, and... _GOAL_! The Gryffindors groaned as the Slytherins started laughing and cheering, and Draco could just make out their song.

The thought of Pansy directing their house-mates to sing "Weasley Is Our King" made Draco smile smugly. He started singing too, and as he flew past the crowd, he saw Pansy and Greengrass waving their green and silver flags, their crown-shaped badges glittering in the sun. They were all singing, which made Draco smile to himself. With still no sign of the Snitch, he circled the pitch and watched what Potter was doing to see if he had caught a glimpse of it yet.

Finding nothing, much as expected (it was all too early in the match), he flew by the stands, feeling for a little encouragement. All the Slytherins were singing. It was beautiful to his ears.

_He cannot block a single ring,  
That's why Slytherins all sing…_

As he flew past, the Slytherins including his classmates cheered, as they did any of the team-members. It made him smile contently, as he flew higher. He distantly acknowledged that Bletchley scored another goal for Slytherin, and he smiled to himself, riding around the air in a big circle high above the rest of the players.

_...Weasley will make sure we win  
Weasley is our king..._

The match went on, and Montague managed to save it as Alicia Spinnet tried to score, but his mirth was abruptly destroyed, and he swore as Angelina Johnson scored for Gryffindor. _No matter, no matter_, he told himself, although he cursed Montague silently. Couldn't even outplay a _girl_, could he. Not to mention how Warrington hadn't scored once since the match began! Draco would have to see to it that the match went their way, he supposed.

Fifteen minutes later they were leading with 70-40, and it felt wonderful, just as it should, just as he'd planned. And all of a sudden he spotted something goldish flickering by one of the Gryffindor hoops and without hesitating one second, he dived for it. Problem was, Potter had seen it just as he had. His heart's pace was quickening in his chest, _this was his moment_. He cursed his broom to go faster, setting off towards the quick and inconsistent Snitch which was flying higher and higher.

He and Potter were soon locked in a battle of the Snitch, flying side by side, both with their arms outstretched, just inches away from the small, golden ball, reaching for it as if their lives depended on it. Faster, Draco mentally cursed his broom. He scratched at Potter's outstretched arm, but in a matter of seconds, it was too late, Potter grasped it in his hand, and suddenly he disappeared.

"Sod it!" shouted Draco angrily, and then looked back and saw Potter twirling to the ground. Vincent had sent a Bludger after him just as he had caught the Snitch. Draco's blood was boiling and he wanted to cause Potter any pain possible. They had written a _song_ and everything – they were supposed to win!

He hurried across the pitch and landed by Potter. He thought feverishly for a second: he could not momentarily insult Potter logically because Potter just had received success... therefore he should just go with Weasley. Yes, he thought he had something...

He managed to press out a sneer when he looked at Potter who got out of an embrace from some girls in their team. "Saved Weasley's neck, haven't you?"

Potter looked up immediately but did not answer. Draco continued, "I've never seen a worse Keeper... but then he was _born in a bin_... did you like my lyrics, Potter?"

"We wanted to write another couple of verses!" he called, as Potter still ignored him. "But we couldn't find rhymes for fat and ugly – we wanted to sing about his mother, see... We couldn't fit in _useless loser_ either – for his father, you know..." He would have to go all the way, Draco decided. He _would _get to Potter. Gryffindor's captain and the Weasley twins all glared at him but he ignored it. "But you like the Weasleys, don't you, Potter?" he sneered. "Spend holidays there and everything, don't you? Can't see how you stand the stink, but I suppose when you've been dragged up by Muggles, even the Weasley's hovel smells all right."

The hate that radiated from Potter and the Weasleys made him retreat slightly, for they looked ready to attack – but he could not help crossing that line. "Or perhaps you can remember what _your _mother's house stank like, Potter, and Weasley's pigsty reminds you of it—"

Potter and one of the Weasley twins suddenly burst at him and he could feel nothing but pain and confusion and his first instinct was to claw after Potter's head and aim a kick towards the twin, but they were two against one. He shrieked and heard a whistle. The girls were screaming. Weasley swore and someone called "Impedimenta!" and finally the punches in his stomach and face ceased, when Potter was thrown off of him. Draco stayed on the ground, groaning and moaning and tasting blood. A stern voice shouted at Potter and Weasley and they disappeared away. The crowd resolved, and Draco started heaving himself up, thinking "_Bloody wankers, two on one..._".

He looked angrily up at Vincent who suddenly was there, muttering things about Potters and blood traitors, just about to let Draco support on him to get up, when he heard a girl's voice shout: "Draco!"

_Not now_, thought Draco, when he was embarrassed and hurt and bleeding. She rushed forward out from nowhere and pushed Vincent away, which was a great achievement because of the latter's size, and asked him in an upset voice: "Are you all right?" He did not want _Pansy_ to be there just then, not when he just lost the match and was lying on the ground with a bloody nose – but she helped him up nonetheless; he could actually get up on his own, he did not need her, but he let her just for her sake. Pansy was shouting at some teacher that they should expel Potter and Weasley. Draco straightened up and wiped the blood of his nose with his sleeve.

"Honestly, they're both mental!" Pansy was shaking of anger and bashing Potter and Weasley all the way to the changing room, with Vincent and a few others from the team walking just behind them. _Ugh_, Draco did not want to look at anyone in Slytherin because he was so ashamed that they had lost. He just wanted to get out of there.

"Attacking you like that, what bloody right do they have to do that? Sodding Potter, always seeing himself above the rules. He's no better than any of us! He's below us, if anything!"

The boys all agreed to Pansy's angry rambling, and when they were close to the changing rooms, Pansy's friends appeared. "I'm going off with them," said Pansy and nodded towards her friends. "See you lot back at the castle. Draco, are you sure you're all right?"

"Merlin, _Yes_," he emphasised, ashamed of losing and not wanting her to make that clear to the entire team. She left, but on the rest of the way to the changing rooms, he limped a little extra just in case she was looking.

They showered and changed and Draco had to retell his story several times to his teammates who all wanted to hear about the fight. Draco had never appreciated coming back to the castle so much. Just as he had got back to the common room, though, Minerva McGonagall came dashing in and commanded: "Malfoy, Parkinson, I'd like a word in my office. Now!"

As if Draco had not gone through enough. She turned on her heel and he and Pansy looked at each other and he shrugged.

"Take a seat," ordered McGonagall as they reached her office, and motioned toward two chairs in front of her desk. They dared naught but to obey.

"First of all, Mr. Malfoy, fist-fighting is forbidden at Hogwarts if you had not yet noticed. That scene on the pitch cost you and your house fifty points. I hope you think severely before attempting anything similar in the future." She looked like she could kill; Draco had never seen her as angry. Draco swallowed. _50 points_... He hadn't even been the one to start... Very much unfair.

"Now, is it true that it's the two of you who came up with this absolutely ridiculous song about Ron Weasley?"

Draco noticed that Pansy started smiling from the corner of his eye, as if she could not hold it back. Draco pressed his lips together, forcing himself to keep a straight face.

"This is not funny, miss Parkinson!" said McGonagall fiercely. "You're both attending your _fifth _year at Hogwarts – you have got to stop with this childish nonsense!"

Both of them were silent, and Pansy looked away. Draco was not often spoken to in this very stern and severe manner, and he reckoned he could say the same for Pansy.

"Professor," said Draco. "Isn't this really in the responsibility of our Head of House? Not should you—"

McGonagall only looked angrier: "Well, yes, but—"

Draco looked around and then said: "Well... I can't see Snape around."

Pansy hastily agreed: "Yeah." Both of them nodded. It was their usual way of getting out of trouble – insisting that Snape should take care of them, knowing that Snape only ever told them to "possibly don't do it again" and that was that.

"I did inform Severus," said McGonagall angrily, "and he did not take the matter seriously – and I think you both know this quite well. My students in Gryffindor are being bullied by you two, and it's unacceptable. Both of you will receive detention with Mr. Filch for four weeks."

Draco and Pansy both immediately cried out of repugnance. "Four weeks?!" shrieked Pansy. "For a stupid song?"

Draco tried another strategy. "Professor McGonagall," he said, "surely this is a bit of an overreaction. We only did write a song, I'm sure the other teachers would agree that this is outrageous..."

_So, detention, four weeks_. McGonagall had been harder to convince than he had realised. _Bugger._ The day that Draco had figured was going to contain victory and celebrating in the common room just turned to rubbish, basically.


	5. Girl, I suppose

_Better Be Slytherin_  
V

It was a beautiful sunset. The outlines of the castle were black against the pinkish sky. The treetops of the Forbidden Forest swayed slightly in the light evening breeze, but other than that, everything was silent and still. Even the surface of the lake was smooth.

Down in the dungeons, in the Slytherin boys' dormitory, Draco Malfoy lay in his bed just as still as the environment outside, feeling content of both finishing the Moonstone essay for Snape and the text in Defence so Umbridge would be pleased. He had just come back from the first session of that sodding detention with Filch. He had Pansy had been forced to clean out the Owlery, _no magic_. He was not used to any type of manual labour, and neither was Pansy, and they had complained all the way through it. Anger rushed through him as he cursed professor McGonagall for her overreaction. She had no right to do this to him. It was positively inhumane – he would have to write to his father. The only positive thing about his row with Potter was that the latter and both Weasley twins were banned for life from Quidditch.

He lay properly on his back on top of the covers listening to the fireplace crackling. Everybody was getting ready for bed. Goyle was already snoring in his bed. Zabini was boasting about something while undressing. Vincent was listening, and making some snide comment. Nott was reading some Dark Arts book in his bed in the dark corner, not listening at all. Draco was pretending to pay attention, not really caring. He and Zabini had never really got on. Zabini was a big bloke and mostly just arrogant and distanced. Zabini bored him.

There were a lot of people Draco had never liked. Potter, for one. The Boy Who Lived to Annoy. And Weasley and Granger. And Dumbledore. And most of the teachers – well, except Snape, of course – and most of the students as well, if he were to be honest. Everybody was quite useless, Draco reckoned, except for himself and his parents. Vincent and Gregory barely passed, but they were useful – they did what Draco told them to do. Plus, they were fun to laugh at when they were being stupid. And Pansy; she could be quite all right – she entertained him.

Pansy was a special girl. That was the only way Draco could describe her. She was not like all the other ditzs. She was the only girl he would ever let hang around. From the moment he had met her, he was never fooled by her appearances – he knew she was not afraid to get her dress dirty or mess up her braids. Pansy was funny to be with – she always found a way to entertain him. She understood his special needs, and that was something he liked very much – when people understood that his needs were more important than their own. Not that Pansy was like that all the time, though – she could be a bit of a drama queen herself – and sometimes she thought she was more important than him. Which he knew was not true, of course.

Draco continued listening to Zabini, not really having anything else to do. And when he later on lay in the dark and listened to Goyle's snoring, he thought only of one thing. And for some reason, he didn't understand it himself; he couldn't stop thinking about it.

November surpassed into December, and the cold was followed by both snow and an avalanche of school work, not to mention how their prefect duties increased when they were supposed to decorate the castle for Christmas. Not to mention his and Pansy's wretched detentions with Filch. _Ugh_. The two of them were both knackered each night when they threw themselves down in front of the fire down in the common room.

Draco received an unpleasant surprised when they had walked down to care of magical creatures lecture a chilly early-December afternoon. The half-wit, Hagrid, was back. He rolled his eyes irritatedly and commented to Crabbe and Goyle about it in a mutter. Hagrid was standing at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, and he looked positively terrible. His face was bleeding and he had greenish bruises all over his face.

Not to mention how he had something that looked like a half dead calf slung over his shoulder. Draco frowned, _god_, he smelled too.

"We're workin' in here today!" Hagrid called happily to the students, jerking his head back at the dark trees behind him while the class started gathering around him. "Bit more sheltered! Anyway, they prefer the dark."

Draco suddenly felt slightly nervous. You never knew what dangerous and untrained beasts that great of would bring to their classes, after all. "What prefers the dark?" he asked Crabbe and Goyle sharply. "What did he say prefers the dark – did you hear?"

"Ready?" said Hagrid cheerfully, looking around at the class. "Right, well, I've been savin' a trip inter the Forest fer yer fifth year. Thought we'd go an' see these creatmures in their natural habitat. Now, what we're studyin' today is pretty rare, I reckon I'm probably the on'y person in Britain who's managed ter train 'em."

"And you're sure they're trained, are you?" Draco said loudly, frowning. He wasn't too sure about it. "Only it wouldn't be the first time you'd brought wild stuff to class, would it?"

His fellow Slytherins murmured agreement and even some of the Gryffindors looked like they thought he had a point as well.

"'Course they're trained," said Hagrid, scowling and hoisting the dead cow a little higher on his shoulder.

"What happened to your face, then?" Draco demanded, he could not resist.

"Mind yer own business!" Hagrid exclaimed at him. "Now, if yeh've finished asking stupid questions, follow me!"

Draco rolled his eyes as their teacher turned around and strode straight into the Forest. For a second, Draco considered just walking off, enjoying a nice free period in the common room and not be bothered with it. None of the others seemed particularly interested in following him either. Potter, Weasley and Granger followed him loyally but even they seemed a little doubtful. The rest of the class reluctantly followed in their footsteps – the Slytherins were the last ones. They walked for about ten minutes until they reached a place where the trees were so tight together that it was dusk-dark and there was no snow on the ground anymore.

Hagrid put down the dead cow on the ground with a grunt and took a step back, turning around to face his students who came creeping up closer between trees. Draco did not like this at all.

"Gather roun', gather roun'," he encouraged. He gave out a peculiar cry that echoed through the trees, like the call from some huge bird. Draco grinned. He was a mad man, it was certain now. Nothing happened. Hagrid gave out the cry again. His fellow students looked around nervously. Draco looked to the side – nothing their either. He then heard a twig break right in front of them and hastily turned his attention back. But no, nothing their either. The rest of the class seemed just as confused as him.

"Oh, an' here comes another one," said Hagrid proudly. Was he daft? There was nothing there! Just trees and moss. Perhaps the giants messed him up properly, thought Draco. His classmates backed a couple of steps, doubtful.

"Now... put yer hands up, who can see 'em?"

Draco frowned and looked around. Potter, Longbottom and – _Nott_? – all raised their hands. Nott was looking at something in front of them with a disgusted look on his face. Why would he be in on that oaf's charade?

"Yeah... yeah, I knew you'd be able ter, Harry," said Hagrid severely to Potter. "An' you too, Neville, eh? An'—"

Draco however interrupted him before he got the chance to address Theodore, tearing his eyes off Nott and snorting: "Excuse me, but what exactly are we supposed to be seeing?"

As a response, Hagrid pointed at the dead cow on the ground. The entire class stared down at it for a couple of seconds, before several students gasped and Patil gave a high-pitched exclaim. Draco felt his heart beating faster as he hastily backed off – something invisible was tearing off pieces of meat from the dead cow.

"Don't worry, it won't hurt yeh," Hagrid told Patil who was hiding behind a tree, terrified. "Righ', now, who can tell why some o' yeh can see 'em an' some can't?"

Granger naturally raised her hand."The only people who can see Thestrals are people who have seen death."

"That's exactly right. Ten points ter Gryffindor. Now, Thestrals—"

"Hem, hem."

Professor Umbridge had arrived, clipboard at the ready.

"Oh hello!" Hagrid smiled when he finally had located the source of the noise.

"You received the note I sent your cabin this morning?" Umbridge asked him loudly and clearly as if she was talking to a very slow-minded foreigner. Draco and Crabbe shared a grin. "Telling you that I would be inspecting you lesson?"

"Oh yeah," said Hagrid brightly. "Glad yeh found the place all righ'! Well, as you can see – or, I dunno – can you? We're doin' Thestrals today—"

"I'm sorry?" said Umbridge loudly, cupping her hand around her ear and frowning. "What did you say?"

Hagrid looked confused. "Er – Thestrals! Big – er – winged horses, yeh know!"

He flapped his gigantic arms hopefully. Bloody hell. This would certainly be interesting.

Umbridge raised her eyebrows and mumbled while taking notes on the clipboard: "_Has... to... resort... to... crude... sign... language_."

"Well... anyway..." said Hagrid, turning back to the class and looking slightly flustered. "Erm, what was I sayin'?"

"_Appears... to... have... poor... short... term... memory_," muttered Umbridge loud enough for everyone to hear. Draco beamed. Hagrid looked worried.

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, I was gonna tell yeh how come we got a herd. Yeah, so, we started off with a male an' five females. This one," he patted something in the air, "name o' Tenebrus, he's my special favourite, firs' one born here in the Forest—"

"Are you aware," Umbridge interrupted him loudly, "that the Ministry of Magic has classified Thestrals as 'dangerous'?"

Draco cast a glance at Pansy on his other side – she had a broad smile on her face just like him, and a glint in her eyes. It broadened his smile.

Hagrid merely chuckled.** "**Thestrals aren' dangerous! All righ', they might take a bite outta you if yeh really annoy them—"

"Shows... signs... of... pleasure... at... idea... of... violence," muttered Umbridge while making a note again.Draco immediately looked at Pansy again, sniggering, and they could not refrain from beginning to titter.

"No – come on!" said Hagrid, now looking a little anxious. "I mean, a dog'll bite if yeh bait it, won' it—but Thestrals have jus' got a bad reputation because o' the death thing—people used ter think they were bad omens, didn' they? Jus' didn' understand, did they?"****

Umbridge did not answer; she finished writing her last note, then looked up at Hagrid and said, again very loudly and slowly, "Please continue teaching as usual. I am going to walk," she mimed walking – Draco and Pansy were having silent fits of laughter by now, "among the students" (she pointed around at individual members of the class) "and ask them questions." She pointed at her mouth to indicate talking.

Pansy's face was red, they couldn't stop laughing and Draco feared they would not be able to keep quiet for much longer. That _oaf_, thought Draco and laughed even more. Pansy even had to support herself on him, a grip on his arm to not fall down in a fit of laughter.

Umbridge walked towards the Slytherins, while Hagrid kept talking: "Erm… anyway, so—Thestrals. Yeah. Well, there's loads o' good stuff abou' them…"

Umbridge had approached Pansy and asked her in a ringing voice: "Do you find that you are able to understand Professor Hagrid when he talks?"

Teary-eyed from laughter, Pansy's answer was almost incoherent because she was trying to suppress her giggles. "No... because... well... it sounds... like grunting a lot of the time..."

Umbridge wrote it down at once. Draco sent Pansy an appreciative look, grinning. Hagrid turned red in the face but looked like he tried to pretend he had not heard what Pansy said.

"Er… yeah… good stuff abou' Thestrals. Well, once they're tamed, like this lot, yeh'll never be lost again. 'Mazin' sense o' direction, jus' tell 'em where yeh want ter go—"

"Assuming they can understand you, of course," Draco said loudly and Pansy collapsed in a fit of renewed giggles. Professor Umbridge smiled indulgently at them and then turned to Longbottom to question him about the Thestrals. He certainly seemed frightened. What was that half-wit thinking bringing up creatures like these?

"Well, Hagrid," she turned to look up at the latter again, "I think I've got enough to be getting along with. You will receive" (she mimed taking something from the air in front of her) "the results of your inspection" (she pointed at the clipboard) "in ten days' time." She held up ten stubby little fingers, smiling widely, and then under her green hat, she hurried off, leaving Draco and Pansy in fits of laughter.

Half an hour later the lesson was finally over. Draco and Pansy had not been able to keep focus after Umbridge's hilarious show, but had just leaned back, ignored Hagrid and hoped that justice might actually for once be on their side and that that troll would be sacked! As Draco, Gregory and Vincent made their way back to the castle through the snow, they saw Potter and his friends ahead. Draco motioned for his friends to hurry along, as they sneaked up behind them.

"… it's all right," they heard Potter say.

"I'm surprised so many could see them," said Weasley. "Three in a class—"

Draco snorted. "Yeah, Weasley, we were just wondering," he drawled**. **"D'you reckon if you saw someone snuff it you'd be able to see the Quaffle better?"

Draco and his friends roared with laughter as they pushed past the trio on their way to the castle, then broke into a chorus of "Weasley is our King" just because Draco felt on top of the world that afternoon. He distantly heard Granger behind his back telling Weasley to "let it go", but with a smirk on his lips, Draco knew he wouldn't have done anything anyway.

That Monday followed as grey and dull as the previous couple of weeks had been. But Theodore Nott enjoyed that sort of weather. It made it possible for him to stay inside and read without being urged to go outside and socialise himself with his 'mates' and 'hang out' on the grounds. Theodore preferred occupying a dark corner of the common room, minding his own business, and reading.

At breakfast, it was made clear that the oaf, Hagrid, was back from weeks of absence, and they were all, naturally, forced to listen to what Mr. Malfoy thought of this.

Hogwarts was lovely except for all the students.

And that Umbridge. Theodore did not like her in the least. She had started inspecting their classes for some reason he did not know, but to great entertainment to his fellow house-mates – Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson had their fits of laughter while Theodore saw Thestrals. He sometimes wished for their ignorant obliviousness – to know nothing of death and pain, to get everything served on a silver plate, to go through life talking yourself out of trouble, to not have to take responsibility, to cheat life.

He knew he would never have the same simplicity.

He escaped them all that Saturday when his house-mates went down to Hogsmeade for a day of having Butterbeers and looking through the shops. He enjoyed a deserted, low-ceilinged, common room that glowed in a greenish light, with his book.

His house-mates annoyed him. Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy and the lot – they all talked big, like they were big supporters of the Dark Lord, but he saw right through it, there was not much behind it; they did not really know what it meant.

They were not worthy.

The dark dungeon was bathing in a pinkish light that was spreading from the cauldrons that the students were stirring. Draco could hardly make out the words on the black board from his place in the far back of the classroom because of the hazy air. The classroom was filled with babbling, everyone seemed nearly intoxicated – Draco supposed the love potions had an affect on all of them. Draco himself felt oddly warm inside and very drowsy, as if he could fall asleep if he would just shut his eyes. At the same time, the scent that filled Draco's nostrils was so lovely that he did his best to stay awake just to keep smelling it.

He sensed silver polish, or at least that was what he thought it was. It reminded him of Malfoy Manor. He sensed Liquorice Wands. He smelled the handle of his broomstick on a sunny summer day, and best of all… he smelled something he could not put his finger on. It smelled like all the sweet things in the world – a mixture of sweets and lollies and flowers. He just wanted to bore his head into it.

"It's supposed to be wine red by now! But look at it… Useless piece of dung…" Pansy was sitting next to him and feverishly stirring in their cauldron which was filled with a repulsive grey-greenish liquid. She wiped the sweat from her forhead with her sleeve of her robe, an annoyed express on her face. Draco watched her, he couldn't help it, he stared at her cheeks that were slightly pink from the heat, he looked at her eyebrows that were frowning and he looked at her pug-like nose that he had used to think was so ugly.

He closed his mouth and sat up more straight. He looked around, looked at Vincent and Gregory by his other side instead, watched how they struggled with their own potion. Vincent, who was sitting closest to him, had big wet spots under his arms.

When he turned back to his own partner and potion, he discovered that Pansy had tossed off her robe. Her hair was a bit messy and he had never seen her so attractive. _No_, his mind told him, _it was Pansy, his friend – not attractive._

"Your potions should by now have adopted a pearl-ish shimmering, after you added the honeywater," Snape's low voice droned from the front of the classroom.

Pansy swore under her breath. "Ours isn't even wine red yet," she muttered. She turned to Draco, as if demanding an answer, and caught him staring. Draco straightened up and started, just to have something to do, gathering the frozen Ashwinder eggs that he had just cut up and that they were going to add to the potion shortly. Then he turned away to watch Vincent and Gregory, yet again, with his head resting against his palm. Vince and Greg had started fighting about what to put in next.

"You know, we're _supposed _to do this together, Draco," said Pansy irritably. He turned back to her.

"I just chopped up a fat bunch of Ashwinder eggs, so how are we _not _doing this together?" said Draco and would usually have been irritated as well, but now he was just grinning at her. She rolled her eyes, but was unable to conceal the small smile that crept onto her face.

"You look like you could fall asleep any second," she commented when she had turned back to the cauldron and continued stirring.

"I could," yawned Draco. "I'm staying awake, though, should you need my assistance."

"Don't flatter yourself," muttered Pansy and gave a snort-laugh. Draco's lip curled and their eyes locked in a moment a bit too long.

They both turned away at the same time. Draco glanced at the cauldron in front of them instead. _Why did it feel odd just looking at her_? Pansy picked up _Magical Drafts and Potions_ from the table and started fanning herself with it. It did not seem to work that well, though; the book was to heavy and ungainly. Instead, she unbuttoned the three top buttons of her blouse, precisely so far as it being easy for Draco to catch a glimpse of her bra and the curve of her breasts underneath.  
  
Draco felt his face grow hot as he looked. Frowning slightly, feeling very confused, he turned, completely stiff, and stared at the back of Longbottom's head at the table in front of them. He could not refrain, however, from glancing at Pansy once in a while.

Pansy. With breasts. Pansy. A _girl_. Pansy. His friend.

It was all too new for him.

Potions was their last lecture of the day – of the whole term, actually – so when the bells rang they all hurried to the End-of-Term Feast.

Vincent and Gregory placed themselfs next to Draco, and on Pansy's other side, a couple of big blokes from seventh year was sitting. Needless to say, the space got horrendously limited, and Draco and Pansy's thighs were pressed together during the entire dinner. Draco wondered why he felt odd about this all of a sudden. He _had _always known after all that Pansy was indeed a girl. And he was sure this was not the first time they sat close next to each other – then why did it for the first time feel odd?


	6. Carpe Cerevisi!

Better Be Slytherin  
VI

The train was travelling quickly in the winter darkness; Theodore could barely see more than his own reflection in the window and catch a slight glimpse of the snowy scenery rushing past outside.

"Ha-ha, I win!" exclaimed Pansy triumphantly.

Theodore turned back to the game of Exploading Snap.

Vincent shook his head and waved his own cards in her face."Fuck no, you little cheat, looky 'ere…"

Pansy and Vincent started quarreling again; Theodore had grown tired of it a long time ago. So he leaned back and watched them, but did not pay any attention to what they said.

The lanterns were lit, the compartment was bathing in a yellowish light. It was cosy, Theodore was drowsy and felt comfortably warm. It was late at night, they had been travelling for several hours, and he figured that they should be arriving in London soon.

Malfoy was reading _The Daily Prophet _and looked like he was basking in superiority. Goyle was reading a magazine as well, but one of less severity: _Martin Miggs: The Mad Muggle – _a comic Theodore had grown out of many years ago. But then again, Goyle _were _a little behind in the mental development department, Theodore reasoned.

Finally, when Vincent got tired of carrying on arguing with Pansy he got up and sat down over by the door opposite to Goyle, but not before he had quickly made a mess of the cards on the table with his big hand, and ruined the round.

Theodore and Pansy continued playing, and Pansy's annoyance disappeared gradually, which he thought was nice, even though he reckoned it was funny to hear her muttering and cursing Vincent. He really could not take her seriously when she was being cross._  
_  
Theodore slowly saw the surroundings transform from countryside to the townhouse-filled suburbs of London. He wished the train would never stop, he wished it would turn over and go back.

Christmas Day was Gregory's favourite day of the year. He always spent it the same – with his and Vincent's families together. The latter was, despite everything, as a brother to him. It did not matter that he the only thing he got was a pair of Omnioculars and that Vincent got angry at his dad for something Gregory did not understand. Gregory did, though, know that Vincent and his dad always argued at Christmas because Mrs Crabbe had left at that same time when Vincent was young. Although Vincent acted like he did not care; his mother had disappeared before Vincent had even known what a "mother" was, and he had grown up with only an absent father, just like that weird Nott-boy. Gregory thought that he had lost a bit of empathy because of it; his friend had never known a mother's love and he reckoned there must be something not right because of it.

Gregory reckoned Malfoy and Pansy and the rest had through their lives received too much of everything – both possessions and attention. They had grown up with a mum and dad who protected them all the time, always getting what they wanted, and learnt to believe that they were better than others.

Gregory reckoned he was different. Yet, he was not strong enough to show it.

There were lights glimmering in the windows of their small rural house. Usually, they were surrounded by dark forest and nothing else, and looking at his home from outside, Theodore actually felt his bad moon drain off for a few seconds, leaving him to feel at ease.

"There," he mumbled, sticking in a carrot inside Walter's cage. "There you go."

He stroked his pet's long, soft, brown ears and for a moment he felt carefree. He enjoyed being out there with Walter, in the dark, in the complete solitude, not having to think about anything but himself and the small responsibilities having a bunny required.

He had never felt comfortable with his relatives; he felt like he did not fit in. And perhaps that was why he felt he needed to go outside to get a break from them all. His mother's parents were always there for Christmas – his grandmother was an obnoxious old woman who always had to say her two Knuts about anything and everything, and who smelled like she was slowly rotting to death. His grandparents were too old; he had never had a personal bond with either of them. His dad only invited them because he felt like he had no choice, Theodore reckoned – that, or because it was the only thing reminding him of his late wife.

Then there were his father's brother and his wife and two children. Theodore despised the attention-craving children of four and seven years old that had the perfect, sweet and caring mother and did not appreciate it. They took her for granted and he hated people like that.

Theodore would never do that. He would show his love and gratitude to his mother every day if it was possible.

"Theodore!" it was his father's voice who called from the open back door. "Draco Malfoy on the Floo for you."

Theodore frowned, wondering what he might want, and got up. Well inside the kitchen, he saw Malfoy's head sticking out the fireplace. He sent a glance at his father, who put his hands up and mumbled, "all right, all right," and left the room.

"Hiya. Err.. what's going on?" said Theodore, turning to the fireplace where Malfoy's blonde head lay among the flames.

"Just wanted to see if you wanted to come to a party," he smirked. Theodore raised his eyebrows. Malfoy hastily went on, "Well, it's only me Vince, Greg and Pansy about, but Greg's parents are out, and we were thinking of plainly finishing all of his parents' finest Ogden." Malfoy seemed pleased with himself, and Theodore could just imagine how he and Pansy had been scheming and giggling and sniggering together, thinking about how much trouble it would cost Goyle. Theodore did not understand why Goyle would want to be friends with them. But that was not his problem.

"Yeah, all right."

Gregory Goyle lived in a dilapidated brick house just outside London; the area of the alike, dull and grey houses, stretched for miles by the look of it. When he arrived, at the dark one-story house he felt slightly out of place. Malfoy, Goyle, Crabbe and Pansy were all in the combined sitting room and kitchen. He was only really friends with Malfoy, and barely even that. He usually despised Crabbe and Goyle, and with Zabini not there he felt even more misplaced.

"Let's get him a drink, eh?" said Malfoy, grinning. Goyle looked reluctant, but handed over the bottle of Fire Whiskey. Malfoy poured him glass way too big; Theodore supposed Malfoy was not as experienced as he made himself out to be. There was Liquorice Wands and empty Butterbeer bottles scattered over the coffee table and Theodore wished the mood could ease up a little.

It did. Theodore actually realised that night that his classmates perhaps were not so bad. He stayed all night there with them, talking, joking and drinking Fire Whiskey. Crabbe and Goyle were indeed dull, Malfoy boasted a bit too much, and Pansy was overall a bit too much, but at least he had more fun than he would sitting alone in his room at home.

Draco was happy and satisfied with his father confiding in him with important matters – over Christmas he had told Draco (when Narcissa had been in another room of course) about a gang of Death Eaters led by Walden McNair had succeeded in bringing the giants over to their cause. Other than that, he knew very little of the Dark Lord and what his father or the other Death Eaters did.

A few days after New Year's eve, they went back to Hogwarts again and it was not long before Draco read nauseating headlines on the front page of the _Daily Prophet _about a mass-breakout from Azkaban where Death Eaters such as Rookwood, Dolohov, Travers, and Mulciber, Rodolphus Lestrange and wife named Bellatrix, and brother Rabastan.

A month of schoolwork, prefect duties, worrying and laying-low passed and the weather stayed biting cold, dark and icy. Draco had slept feverishly and woken up sweaty in the cold dungeons. He had had a recurring dream for days; he never remembered it well when he woke up but he sensed the similarities between them; there was something about Pansy, a feeling he got about the colour pink, as if he should expect great failure every time she wore it. Draco had not dared to speak, or barely look at her since they had been back. For she had got a pink lip-gloss from Daphne Greengrass for Christmas and she used it every day. It was not like him, worrying over a girl – he disgusted himself.

"Oh, come off it," grunted Montague loudly, interrupting his trail of thought. He turned to look at his house-mate opposite to him in the dark green sofa in the common room.

"Off what?"

"Just ask her out then, will you?" Montague gave a guffaw, which rubbed off on Zabini, Vincent and Pucey, the weird one. Draco felt his cheeks go warm.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Graham," he said with what he hoped was chilliness in his voice. Montague sniggered.

"You don't, do you?" he said with a knowing look, as if he did not believe Draco. Draco snorted. What was any of this _Montague's_ business? The big oaf who bossed them around at the Quidditch pitch, he did not know anything about Pansy. Draco did not want to _ask her out_, never. Even Pucey, the skinny, slow-minded and horse-teethed boy could surely know that.

"Haven't I always said?" continued Montague as Callum Yulley and Timothy Morcott joined them by the fireplace. "Haven't I, lads?" he nodded towards his friends, "That those two love birdies should just get it on."

"Sod off." Draco tried to sound casual, but his irritation came through. Callum and Morcott sniggered.

"Remember how she fawned over him that time he got hit by that Bludger back in our forth year?" said Montague boldly to Pucey, irritating Draco for speaking as if he was not there. "She thought he died!" he laughed and turned to look at Draco once more, "And we were all in the hospital wing, and we had to drag her off of you!"

The boys laughed. "We're all just friends," commented Draco sourly. He turned to look pointedly at Vincent, who immediately nodded in agreement.

"Right!"

"She obviously fancies you."

"No, she doesn't," said Draco hastily, frowning. "Does she?"

"She's always hangin' round," commented Vincent, shrugging. Draco looked up at him and narrowed his eyes.

"Right, because she's... entertaining," began Draco, looking pointedly at Vincent. Then he turned to Graham and went on: "Can't you even hang out with a girl without it being something more? We're bloody friends."

"Friends who'd like to get off," teased Callum with a look at Draco.

"Whatever," said Draco and shrugged with a curl of his lip.

"There's a hogsmeade weekend coming up, Draco," Pucey smiled teasingly, his horse-teeth very visible. Twit.

"She's mad for you, I reckon," said Montague, "And she's not about to give another bloke a chance unless she's sure you're dead... or gay... or secretly a Weasley."

The courtyard was damp. It was raining lightly, making the air misty. The students stood in groups in the school-yard. Draco sat down on the cold wet stone wall that lined the courtyard. He wrapped his cloak tighter around him and crossly muttered to Vincent and Gregory, who were standing on each side of him: "Bloody rain."

They both nodded, and Vincent angrily kicked a rock as if to show Draco that he hated it as well.

Draco looked down at the cobblestones covering the courtyard. He looked up again, and between his damp fringe, he saw Pansy standing with her girlfriends in a cluster some distance away. He immediately hopped off the stone wall, fixed his hair, and leaned back again. He put on a nonchalant expression and looked away. Vincent and Gregory straightened up as well – as if they silently knew what was going on.

Out of the corner of his mouth, Draco hissed to Vincent on his left side. "Is she looking?"

"Err... Well, no."

Draco groaned irritably and looked away. But then it hit him...

"Laugh!" he hissed.

Vincent and Gregory seemed confused, but started laughing in grunts – laughs that sounded like "heh-heh." Draco began to laugh heartedly as well. Pansy turned around and looked at them, and met Draco's fake-accidental glance as he laughed. The other girls looked as well, and Draco saw Greengrass saying something, making the girls snigger. Draco's laughter trailed off, as did Vincent's and Gregory's.

Pansy came over, but it was only to say that they should sit next to each other in Potions. She said that he could help her. He agreed, but silently thought that she'd probably be better off on her own – he was not really that good. The main reason for why he had good marks was that Snape liked him. Not that he would confess to that.

Fifteen minutes later, they all went down to the dungeons for Potions. They were to make the Draught of Peace, which Draco found really hard. But when Snape mocked Potter, Draco felt more encouraged and laughed along with the other Slytherins. And when Goyle's potion caught on fire on his robes, Draco laughed even louder and did not care about finishing the potion correctly. He and Pansy just dumped some random ingredients into the steaming cauldron.

Pansy was reading her History of Magic book, scanning the page over and over – the Goblin rebellions were such a bore! She just would not get it into her head. They were all around the fireplace – Vincent, Gregory, Theodore, Blaise, Draco and her, and had been for the past couple of hours. Schoolwork was overwhelming for them all, forcing them to study – a pastime Pansy hardly enjoyed.

Eventually, both Vincent and Gregory left (they had not been studying much, but simply sitting round avoiding to do so) for the dormitory. It was getting rather late, and soon Blaise retired as well. Draco lay down his book, glancing around him. Pansy looked up just as he did so. Why would he stay in the common room if he did not study? Pansy herself would have loved to leave if she was finished. Draco glanced at her. Pansy kept on reading. As did Theodore. Half an hour passed, in which Pansy noticed how bored and... _impatient?_... Draco seemed. She narrowed her eyes. _What was he up to?_

She lay down her book and cast him a questioning look.

"What?" he countered. Pansy did not answer. Theodore looked up, confused, as if his trance broke. He looked at his watch and then up at his two classmates. Draco sent him a look. Theodore looked from him to Pansy, and then he hastily got up. "Right, I'll be off," he mumbled. "Night."

Pansy looked down into her book again, but she could not focus – the words and letters floated together. She had thought Draco would say something now that they were alone – it seemed as if that had been what he wanted. Instead he picked up his book again.

"Let's hang out Saturday."

"Yeah, all right," said Pansy, not even looking up from her book. _They hung out almost every Saturday, didn't they? _"You couldn't have said that while the others were still here?" she said, with a curl of her lip.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Err, I didn't think of it until just now..."

They were silent for a while. _He could not be... He was not... asking her on a... date... was he_? Then Draco looked up from his book. "We could go down to Hogsmeade."

Pansy slowly looked up at him, and her heart started beating faster for some reason she could not put her finger on. "Yeah," she said hastily.

"I've got to get new ink," Draco continued casually.

"Yeah, all right, definitely."

Pansy frowned. She wondered whether he simply suggested that they _all _go down to the village, or if he meant that the two of them would go by themselves. If Vincent and Gregory would be with them as usual, that they would only hang out like they always did? But then why would he ask her about it? Two days before? They usually just assumed they were going down to the village, like everyone else did. Or would it be just the two of them?

Had he just asked her out on a date?

Draco obviously had not known that Saturday was Valentine's Day, the, according to him, most pathetic excuse for a holiday ever. All of the girls had been excited all week, squealing and giggling and whispering amongst them, making the boys roll their eyes and sigh. Pansy was definitely one of those girls.

The cold weather had changed her plans of wearing nice clothes, and instead she had to wear three jumpers (whereof one was a self-knitted gift from her grandmother which itched and was well too tight) and a big fat cloak as well as a warm, knitted scarf. The things you did to keep warm...

"Potter and Chang!" she shouted as they passed the couple on their way down to the village, when Saturday finally had arrived, to a chorus of snide giggles from her friends. "Urgh, Chang, I don't think much of your taste... At least Diggory was good-looking!"

Daphne Greengrass,faithful best friend, laughed the loudest. Pansy simply loved her, for being as honest and funny as herself. They sped up, talking and shrieking merrily, often glancing back at Potter and his date. It was hilarious. _Definitely have got to tell Draco_, she thought.****

Pansy's friends went for Gladrag's, a shop of wizarding robes, down the road, but Pansy said "see you later" to them and headed the opposite way, since she was supposed to meet Draco at ten thirty. She stood waiting for him in the middle of the road.

And then she spotted him in the crowd. He just exited a shop with Crabbe and Goyle beside him. They stopped outside and Pansy watched as Draco said something to his mates, who both nodded slowly and then started trotting down the street, opposite direction from Pansy. Pansy felt her heart start beating a bit faster, much to her surprise. _Gregory and Vincent were not joining them?_ Did that mean that this was, in fact, a... date?

Draco turned and started walking up the road towards her, looking for her. He spotted her and made his way through the crowd until he reached her.

"Hiya," they both said uncharacteristically awkwardly, and Draco looked rather doubtful, but took a step closer and they hugged.

"All right?" said Pansy.

He nodded. "You?"

She nodded and they pulled away.

"So, what have you been doing today then?" asked Pansy with a smile to keep a conversation going. Which should definitely not be difficult – they talked every day for Merlin's sake!

"Err... We were just looking round the shops, and that. Crabbe and Goyle wanted to go to Honeydukes but..." he smiled a small smug smile and continued, "I refused. I prefer to not sponsor cheap blood-traitors like them. And besides, I get sweets from my mum anyway."

"Right, yeah," agreed Pansy, half-heartedly.

Draco looked satisfied.

"Err... Let's go somewhere, yeah?" said Draco.

They started walking down High Street, even though neither of them knew where they were going.

Every shop-window had pictures of the ten escaped Death Eaters, including Draco's aunt, Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Well, then," said Draco, who hadn't seen what she was looking at. "Where do you want to go?"

He fumbled with his wand which he, for some reason, was holding. Pansy hurried to keep up with his pace, but she had no clue what to say. Then she thought, at the top of her head:

"Err... We could go to this place called Madam Puddifoot's... It's a cosy, err, place with great hot chocolate."

Draco's mouth crooked when she said "hot chocolate" and she did not know whether he appreciated it or found it childish of her. But he followed her. They left the streets full of students who were sauntering around here and there, looking through the shop-windows, sliding into a shop, or just standing in groups on the pavement.

They walked up a back-street and found a steamy little teashop. Draco opened the door and was about to enter but choked and found himself stopping on the doorstep. _Everything_ was pink and fuzzy in there; everything seemed to have bows and all sorts of Valentine's Day decoration on them. It disgusted him. There were only couples in there, tightly entwined or holding hands. _Pansy must be joking, _he reckoned. Why would she bring him _here_? Lace and velvet... there were hanging hearts in the air over the tables; a sort of alive cupid who looked like a tiny house-elf in disguise was flying around, and suddenly shot an arrow with a heart at its end straight down onto the wooden surface of a coffee table by a cuddling couple near the windows; they jumped and the arrow wobbled, standing straight up.

The whole thing was ridiculous.

The place reminded Draco of the dress robes Pansy had worn on the Yule Ball the previous year – she's loved them, but he had told her she looked like a big fat cake.

She'd been oddly cool towards him for the rest of the evening.

Draco shrunk back and backed up, turned to Pansy and started laughing. "Pansy, I refuse to go inside!"

Pansy's smile faded. "What? Why?" She was just about to go for the door but came to a halt when he stopped. She saw the pink mess inside and frowned.

"Whoa. It does look rather too bent today, yeah," she said boldly. _Thank, Merlin_, he thought. "I mean, if someone sees us in here..." Pansy trailed off, looking at him knowingly. He smirked, content and a little bit amused. He was about to answer, when suddenly he saw something inside the teashop through the still open door. He gave out a sudden laugh, grabbed Pansy's arm and dragged her to him, pointed and exclaimed over excitedly:

"Look!"

Potter and a girl he recognised from Quidditch as Chang, was suddenly having a very public row. Chang was standing up crying, many of the guests' attention was focused on the two while the girl was shouting and Potter was, from what it looked like from behind, trying to sink into his chair and trying to calm the scene down.

"Ha! She's _crying _because he's such a bad date!" said Draco in a happy and spiteful tone.

"I've got to tell my friends," said Pansy and tittered.

Draco turned to her and smiled as if to show his appreciation. She laughed. And suddenly Chang came running towards them, and crying she pushed her way through the two of them and ran off towards High street.

The scene settled inside and Draco and Pansy followed her with their eyes for a moment, and then turned back to each other. They realised they were standing close again and that they weren't doing anything, and Pansy cleared her throat and moved away, and Draco felt like his face got warm.

"Let's just go to the Broomsticks, yeah?" said Draco. Pansy nodded and they started walking after Chang back to High street; Draco with his hands in his pockets, looking away, and Pansy looking down on the ground. The awkward silence had already spread around them again like a thick cloud that they could not get through.

Draco kicked a rock. While they were walking it started raining and ultimately the rain was lashing down from dark clouds and the entire village was grey.

They finally reached Three Broomsticks and entered, enjoying the feeling of getting inside to the warmth. The pub was steaming with the lovely smell of Butterbeer and was very crowded as it usually was when the weather was bad. The counter was occupied with shabby-looking wizards who joked and laughed loudly and stank of Fire-whiskey. Only one of the stools where not taken – the fabric of the beige-brown seat was tattered. The dark wooden floor was wet just round the entrance. Pansy stomped off the water off her shoes on the frilly doormat. All the tables around the windows were occupied, and those were the best seats, according to Pansy.

She quickly followed him as he made his way through the crowd towards a corner-table in the far back of the small pub. They struggled out of their cloaks, but Pansy pulled her scarf tighter around her neck for more warmth. Although she was glad to realise she would warm up rather quickly in there anyway.

"D'you want something to drink? I'll go get us two Butterbeers," he said quite hastily to break the silence that spread as they sat down.

"Right, yeah," replied Pansy with a polite sort of smile, uncharacteristic of her. Oh, she must've noticed how he accidentally stared. _Merlin, Draco, she's nothing special, it's only Pansy... _He rolled his eyes, giving himself a mental slap and went for the bar.

Draco got in queue behind a short fat witch in dark-green robes and with long grey hair beneath a big black hat. He looked down on her, frowned, and shouldered past her. He straightened to get the bar keep's attention, ordered two Butterbeers and paid Madam Rosmerta. He made his way back and reached Pansy one of the bottles as he sat down.

"Thanks," she said and took a few sips.

"Good crowd today, eh?" said Draco, casually nodding towards the surrounding ruckus of the talking and laughing of their fellow pub-guests.

They small talked for a while, and then the conversation trailed off and it went silent again. Draco was sitting leaned back in his chair; Pansy had got her elbows on the table, resting her chin against her hand. She grabbed her bottle of Butterbeer and tried to see her reflection in the dark glass, but the round surface made her face look unproportionate.

They had run out of topics, they had only had a few brief stiff conversations about school, Dumbledore, the Weasley's, Liquorice Wands (which they both loved – thank Merlin!), plans for the summer, Prefect duties, The Weird Sisters, their fellow Slytherins, etc. That was about everything you could possibly talk about, wasn't it?

Draco was now sitting looking towards the opposite corner of the pub, seemingly bored. Pansy frowned slightly. They were friends, so why did this feel odd? They always laughed and joked together, they spent time together every day at Hogwarts but now that they were out in Hogsmeade on their own, they didn't seem to find anything at all to talk about. They spent loads of time in school, having fun, scheming together, they even wrote the "Weasley is Our King"-song and made the badges together; having Prefect duties together, him helping her in Potions (although if she were to be honest, he probably had not really helped her that much, he did not have good marks for his enthusiasm for learning and for his potion-making talent exactly…) – they had done everything together in school, but now when everything was so set-up and now that they were alone and out on a real date there was a slight tension and distance between them.

But then she realised. Oh, how obvious it was when she thought about it! Pansy knew one subject that if she brought up Draco would not be able to sit quietly much longer. It was very obvious, really, wasn't it? Why hadn't she thought of it earlier? Oh, how stupid she could be!

Potter.

He reacted exactly as she had imagined and wished – he immediately looked up, literally lit up in a giant sneer, his eyes eager and nasty. And he quickly started babbling on about Potter's miserable date, making Pansy smile widely.

The conversation was fluent and not at all awkward and felt like it should and usually did, for a long while, and Pansy was proud of her unbeatable icebreaking-method. _Until…_

Draco's voice broke and he blushed an unpleasant shade of pink and looked away. Pansy was close to sniggering, but she was clever enough to realise she should not.

"What do you fancy doing next?" said Draco, pretending as if nothing had happened. Oh, how she admired him for being able to shake a situation like this one off, but she admitted to being petty enough to ever mention or show it.

When they got back out to the pavement the mood was considerably different. Much more relaxed. They actually had fun together now, joking and teasing each other. They went to Honeydukes down the street to buy sweets. A bell tingled when they entered the door. Inside it was warm and colourful – a huge contrast to the cold and grey outside. It smelled lovely and there were sweets and chocolate and lollies everywhere. Together, grinning and teasingly poking each other, they filled a bag with Liquorice Wands and paid the fat, curly-haired witch behind the counter.

Pansy was relieved of the new light mood; it was really livelier now. They exited again and walked along the street. They could see the castle straight ahead up on the hill. It had stopped raining now, but it was still cloudy and chilly – but Pansy found it pleasant and she was not cold at all. They shared the Liquorice Wands and talked and joked and talked crap about Potter and they, while sniggering, commented on random by-passers.

Then Pansy stopped at a shop she'd like to enter – she saw a gorgeous pink dress-robe in the shop-window, but on the same window there were pictures of the escaped Death Eaters. Draco switched slightly and frowned.

"We should probably head back," he said firmly.

The common room was nearly completely deserted when they got back. Only two small second year students were sitting with one large book each in front of the armchairs by the fire. They made no sign of noticing Draco and Pansy, who were standing by the stairs down to respective dormitories, just about to part.

"I've had a nice time," said Pansy with a small glint in her eyes.

"I suppose I could've spent my day in a worse way," was Draco's reply. He smiled unintentionally, making a small grin creep up on her features as well, and they shared a look.

They hastily moved in for a quick hug, before they parted ways to respective dorms. Pansy still did not know if they had just been on a date or not.

"We're havin' a piss-up in the common room after dinner, celebratin' Yulley's birthday - you're in, aren't you, lads?"

Miles Bletchley approached Draco, Vincent, Gregory, Zabini and Nott at dinner in the Great Hall. He made no attempt to keep it discreet, but almost shouted it at them. Bletchley was one of those large, boisterous, older boys who just didn't care. They all agreed to it and as Miles left, Draco glanced down the table and happened to look at Pansy, eating with her friends. He hastily looked away. _Silly._

"Finish those already, dimwits," he exclaimed at Vincent and Gregory who were still munching pudding. Nott was already rising from his chair to make his way back to the dungeons. Well, then again, Nott was never the sociable one. But Zabini looked a bit irritated as well; he kept looking at his watch.

Warrington, Pucey and Montague walked passed them, heading for the exit.

"Comin' to the party, right?" Caecus Warrington threw at him. "We're gettin' started jus' now!"

"Yes. You lot go ahead," replied Draco, and sent Vincent and Gregory frustrated looks. The boys left.

Vincent and Gregory did as they were told, and the three of them plus Zabini got up and started walking out the Great Hall, towards the dungeons.

"He's the biggest Slytherin slime there is, I'm tellin' you. If he'd a camera he'd probably stick it in the girls' loo and take pictures of them while they're takin' a piss."

The boys all laughed.

The party had been going on for a while and Draco, Vincent and Gregory were sitting by the sofas with Zabini, Vaisey, Miles Bletchley and Warrington.

"Nice one, mate," grinned Vaisey, as a response to Bletchley's rather vile comment about Linus Urquhart, whom he had fallen out with.

A gang of girls, Pansy was one of them, were dancing to The Weird Sisters in the middle of the crowded, green and dimly-lit common-room. It was just as it always was. The Wireless was on, students were having Butterbeer, and some, if they were daring, Fire Whiskey.

When Draco and his friends had returned to the dungeons, Butterbeer and Cauldron Cakes were already placed out and their house-mates were sitting chatting in groups.

The night was young and they had only started sipping on their Fire Whiskey, _ugh_, Draco frowned at the burning taste – it was really _not _tasty.

"Birthday boy!" was heard shouted by Yardley, Callum Yulley's best friend, and suddenly the newly turned seventeen year-old himself tumbled down into one of the sofas, followed by Yardley, Adrian Pucey and Peregrine Derrick.

"Hello lads. All right?" asked the cheerful Yardley.

"Yeah, you?"

"Yeah, yeah, 'cept Callum keeps whinging about that cake."

"You want a cake, Yulley?"

"Well, I fucking deserve a cake, don't I? Turning seventeen and everything!"

"Let's call a few house-elves, shall we?"

The conversation went on but Draco couldn't focus. He had a hard time keeping himself from looking at the middle of the room.

The boys suddenly erupted in laughs as little house-elf popped up.

"How can Noddy assist you, sirs?" she squealed, but had a hard time making her voice be heard over the boys' laughs.

Yardley calmed down and said "We'd really like a cake, because you see, it's this bloke's birthday. He's seventeen today. So, err... Whatever you could do, I'd be forever grateful."

The house-elf's face lit up at the extreme kindness that she presumably wasn't use to in the Slytherin house.

"O-of course, sir! As quick as I can, sir!" And with a pop she was gone.

"You're getting that cake, after all! I'm the very best friend a lad could have."

The boys laughed. They all drank some more Fire Whiskey while waiting for the cake.

"I'm proper sweating in here, it's well bloody hot in here!" said Crabbe angrily.

"Cause you've got all that body mass to warm you," grinned Pucey. Crabbe sent him a murderous glare while the other boys laughed.

"Oi, Kevin! Graham Pucey! Go to bed!" shouted Miles Bletchley suddenly, rising from his chair and swinging his arm up to quickly point angrily at a boy a few years younger a bit away towards the entrances to the dormitories.

"Come on, don't be a dick!" shouted Kevin Bletchley back in a begging sort of tone.

"Graham you as well, listen to your uncle Miles!" called Adrian Pucey, brother of the other one, with a crooked smile.

"Go on off, you!" Miles was hard as stone and the two boys went back towards the dormitories.

"It's my soddin' little brother. He should be sleeping in bed or writin' letters to mum or somethin', not droolin' over these girls. That's our job, innit," commented Miles as Draco drowned his last Fire Whiskey, dizzy and warm in the face.

An hour or so later, the party was still in full action, the cake had been eaten and Gregory had fallen asleep in one of the armchairs, the music drowning his loud snoring.

Draco was dizzy, he had to focus very hard to look at anything, yet he kept on drinking, merrily than usual. He did not know how, but Pansy was beside him in the sofa now and they were laughing at Gregory's snoring. The Fire Whiskey was warming his insides a bit too much, and the music and sounds of his house-mates laughs was too loud.

"Listen to him," laughed Pansy again, and they broke into another fit of laughter.

"He's like a bloody walrus," Draco slurred out through all the laughter, making Pansy laugh even more, falling down over him.

Laughing, he helped her straighten up and suddenly her face was very close and although he could barely see her he suddenly felt a strong urge to lean in and kiss her.

So he did.


	7. Wicked Children

_Better Be Slytherin  
_VII

_Ugh_. Pansy was sitting by the Slytherin table. It was morning, _too early_ in the morning and the magical ceiling was filled with clouds, and she was sipping her tea, thinking if she'd eat anything it would just come back up. _What the bloody hell had happened last night?_ She only remembered bits of it, but she was definite – she and _Draco_, classmate and sort-of friend, had been snogging. It was certainly new. Sure, there had always been something between them, they had always been special to the other, she was the only girl he let hang around and he had always been hers in some way although she had never been able to decide what sort of feelings she had for him.

Pansy remembered when Draco was still a head shorter than her, which she almost pitied him for; being shorter than her was difficult. They had been friends since they'd first laid eyes on each other and they had always been the other's counterparts, laughing at the same things, taunting the same people, behaving just like the other. They'd attended the Yule Ball together the previous year - she remembered it vividly. They had a brilliant time and she'd loved her pink robes (still did) and Crabbe' had spiked the punch and they'd danced to Weird Sisters all night. A perfect example of how much fun they had together. They teased Gregory and Vincent together and entertained their friends together, and they'd just started hanging out more as friends during the autumn. Pansy couldn't say she was experienced with boys, sure she had always hung out with Draco, Gregory and Vincent and even Theodore and Blaise loads, but these teenage hormones came as a surprise. She had no idea what there was between her and Draco, if that had been a drunken moment of lust from both their parts – that was not unlikely – or if she felt something for him. It was weird to think about, Pansy reckoned. Of course she had always enjoyed spending time with him and definitely enjoyed being the only girl he associated with. She had just never thought about the two of them like that, although she had always been more affectionate than was characteristic for her when she was with him and she knew it was the same from his part.

Ugh. She remembered last night, he was slobbering all over her and practically passing out in her lap – she remembered feeling torn between disgust, worry and a sort of content that he was being affectionate like he had never been before. They had actually been snogging – the thought sent a sort of tingle through her body. Right, but then he had passed out and vomited while sleeping. That hadn't been as nice.

No, Pansy really did not know.

The uncomfortable feeling of knowing he had said and done too much after a couple of Butterbeers was hanging over him, as well as this new awkward situation he was put in. He had always just thought he liked her as a friend – although, of course, he knew he liked her in a different way than he liked Crabbe and Goyle. He reckoned girls were silly, always had, but she managed to pass the limit. He did not understand girls.

The weekend ended and Monday morning came along. It changed everything for Draco.

Out-stared by nervous eyes at breakfast, whispered about and avoided; Draco was completely clueless as to what he had possibly done, so he just went to sit down by his usual spot at the Slytherin table. Theodore Nott approached him immediately.

"Have you seen?" he said in his usual low voice through gritted teeth.

They discussed Harry Potter's interview so long they were nearly late to their first lecture, History of Magic, and had to run themselves breathless which resulted in all of them secreting a distinct smell of sweat during the rest of the day.

Draco's mind was racing through the entire double History lecture; he could not focus on anything Binns said even though he was usually interested in the subject. He just wanted to talk to his mum and dad – he was thinking of sending them an owl or even try to make his father make it able for him to come home for a few hours.

Double-potions followed, and Draco had no energy for it whatsoever. He, Crabbe and Goyle were always early for Potions. It was a routine they had. As they were waiting outside the classroom, down in the chilly dungeons, Draco noticed that while more and more of their classmates arrived, Pansy was nowhere to be seen. Not that he cared. He did not participate in Crabbe and Goyle's conversation, but just stood there waiting for professor Snape. He was tired of lectures and homework and teachers – he was simply not in the mood. Not even seeing Harry Potter produced more than a short look and a small sneer when he remember the part of Potter's date with Chang that he had witnessed on Saturday.

Snape arrived and let them into the classroom; Draco, Crabbe and Goyle sat down at the head of the classroom and Snape turned to the black board and began writing this lesson's instructions. All the Slytherins sat together and laughed together; Pansy sent him a slightly teasing look. They pretended like nothing had happened between them. _We were only drunk_, he thought. _It's only Pansy_.

The period consisted of brewing a Befuddlement Draught, a very tricky potion that required full concentration, which Draco lacked. Even though he was sitting quietly, working as diligently on his potion as he managed, he noticed Snape glancing at him unusually often. He had a hunch Snape wanted to talk to him, so he decided he'd hang back at the end of the lecture.

When the lecture was over, there was a sudden noise as everyone gathered their things and chattering made their way out of the classroom.

A mild buzzing of talking spread and Draco took extra long collecting his things and scribbling something in his book, while everybody else grabbed their bags and made their way out of the classroom.

"You go on," he told Crabbe and Goyle who were standing ready to leave, looking at him. "I'll meet you later."

They both shrugged and left, mixing up into the crowd that was leaving the dungeon, although they were extremely easy to see because of their enormous builds.

Snape was erasing today's lecture's instructions from the blackboard, his back to Draco. Nott, who had been the only one caring enough to write down the homework and was therefore also hanging back, slung his bag up on his shoulder and said, "Coming, Draco?"

Draco looked up, still sitting. Snape cast a glance behind his shoulder, realising what was going on. Draco looked at Snape's back, who turned back to the blackboard, and said: "Later, Nott."

Nott looked at him, then at Snape, then shrugged and left. Snape continued erasing. Draco heard Nott's footsteps trail off.

"Was there something you wanted, Draco?" said Snape, his back to Draco.

Draco did not answer, not immediately. So Snape went on: "It's about your father and that _article_, isn't it?" while beginning to write directions for his next lecture on the board.

"You know about it?" Draco asked. Snape did not answer, but kept sweeping the board.

"He's not going to Azkaban, is he?" Draco did not mean for it to sound so pathetic; he really was not as scared as he sounded. Snape slowly turned around to look at him. Draco swallowed.

Snape looked away, looked out into space and thought. "Getting pointed out by _Potter_," his voice had its usual derisive tone by the mention of the boy's name, "in the _Quibbler_," he sounded, if possibly, more derisive, "as a Death Eater is nothing you can get convicted in court for. They would need some sort of evidence, and for a serious sentence – a fat load at that."

Draco exhaled – naturally he knew all of this, yet it felt relieving to hear it from a grown, wise man who he knew he could trust.

"What if they find evidence, then? Evidence that he has... Well, I dunno – I suppose you should know..."

They looked at each other, Draco's eyebrows slightly raised in a questioning manner. They had never really spoken openly of Snape's loyalty to the Dark Lord.

Snape's lip curled slightly. "Yes, I suppose I should."

Draco's heart was beating faster than usual. "You know, I really want to smash him up right now. Potter."

Snape looked scornfully amused, but as if he tried to conceal it. "Point is," said Snape after a moment of silence. "Your father will be fine. You have got a lot on your mind already, you've got your schoolwork as well as your Prefect duties; you should not worry about these things yet, you're too young, Draco, really..."

Draco rolled his eyes, irritated, and interrupted his teacher. "I'm not stupid, Snape. School is not nearly as important as, well, _Him_, and-"

Snape's eyes were at once chillier. "Leave that to us adults, that's what I'm saying. I know that is what Lucius wants as well right now. And your studies _are _important – but I won't give you that speech, I believe your mother takes care of that more than often."

Draco did not answer, but kept looking at the table, slightly irritated with Snape who could not comfort anyone without condescend them at the same time. Yet he felt calmer.

"If something does happen to your father," Snape went on after a moment of silence, "you know he has contacts within the Ministry. Chances of Lucius going to Azkaban is really quite small, Draco."

Draco looked up. "'Quite small'?"

"Very small," replied Snape calmly. He sounded definite, which made Draco not feel as unsure any longer. Draco looked away. Snape turned back to the board again and continued to prepare for his next lecture, and after a while he once more broke the silence.

"Haven't you got any lectures to get to?"

Draco put his copy of _Magical Draughts and Potions _into his school bag, got up and left.

When he arrived at the Great Hall for lunch, it seemed as if everyone had found out. Draco did not look at anyone, feeling scattered with stares as he placed himself between Crabbe and Goyle. While he ladled up a portion of beef casserole on his plate, Crabbe asked him, mouth stuffed, what he had been doing.

"Talking to professor Snape," replied Draco shortly.

"It's bloody messed up, what Potter did, isn't it," Crabbe went on. Draco only mumbled as a response. Goyle nodded.

"I mean," continued Crabbe, "i's not as if I would tell everyone his secrets, innit? Some things you jus' keep t' yourself, even Potter should have that decency…"

"He really doesn't," Goyle threw in.

"Well, stating the obvious, are we?" muttered Draco, who was getting tired of talking about that particular subject as they only said the same things over and over.

Later that day, when lectures had ended, he, Crabbe, Goyle and Nott went to the library to study, but really mostly to talk. _And speaking of the devil..._ Of course Potter had to waltz into the room, searching for some book amongst the shelves. Just the mere sight of the pompous twat made Draco's head heat up. When he thought about it, they were only boys judged by their fathers' actions – it was selfish and childish of Potter to point fingers.

"Jus' look at him, the posh, self-righteous prat," muttered Crabbe, who as usual could not control his impulses. Draco and Nott were more rational; Goyle was illegible and passive, just as always.

They watched Potter leaving, and Draco had to admit he had a hard time stopping his own impulses, he could feel his jaw clenching and he must've sent Potter a murderous stare because of how surprised Potter looked when he saw them. What aggravated Draco, though, was that he had looked slightly amused as he turned away. _Tosser_.

"Do you think it could actually do anything to our dads?" said Gregory, surprisingly enough. He did not sound as cocky and angry as the rest of them.

"No, I honestly do not," piped Theodore in, chilly and calm as ever. Although Draco would not admit it, not even to himself, it felt nice to have Nott around to make him see things more rational and to just look beyond it – _don't let it get to you._ Even though it would hit Nott the hardest if their fathers went to Azkaban, as he would be completely parentless, Nott did not flinch.

Nott was weird, but Draco respected him.

"He deserves a proper punch, he does," commented Crabbe through gritted teeth.

"People will probably believe him, though," said Draco in a husky tone, ignoring Vincent. "About the Dark Lord being back."

"We don't have to worry about that yet, anyway, do we," said Theodore dismissively. "That's for our parents and the rest to worry about."

After about an hour or so, the four of them got back to the Great Hall for dinner. Nott suddenly being a part of their trio felt unaccustomed – they were clearly marked as Death Eaters spawns, all of them being together, but Draco tried to act as if nothing was going on.

After dinner they went back to the common room. Crabbe and Goyle easily scared off a couple of third-years from the sofas by the fireplace, and they placed themselves in their usual spots – Crabbe and Goyle in the sofa, Draco straight-backed in his armchair, with the addition of Nott who uncomfortably squeezed in on the sofa as well. They started working on their homework, even Crabbe and Goyle tried for once, yet Draco gave up after not five minutes and threw his book together, placed his feet on the table, crossed his arms and spaced out. His jaw was clenching, his mouth twitching, and he could not seem to stop being angry.

Crabbe and Goyle managed to aggravate Nott to the point of nearly bursting, within ten minutes time, by asking for his help repeatedly and not understanding when he did explain to them. It made Draco smirk now and then.

The week went on similarly to that day, Draco spent most of his time eating, sleeping, sleeping in class, being angry at Potter or dim Quidditch-team captains, or studying while muttering to Crabbe and Goyle about how incompetent they both were.

On Saturday, Gryffindor played Hufflepuff which was something that would usually make Draco happy, but this time he, Crabbe and Goyle only half-heartedly shouted some lyrics from "Weasley is Our King". His bad mood had affected his two friends as well. Pansy made it her business to place herself on his lap, while directing the rest of the Slytherins to sing the lyrics enthusiastically, and he reckoned she was probably trying to cheer him up.

He sat silent, sulking, while she sang loudly, laughing smugly. Then she turned to him, her crooked smile plastered on her face. "Do you hear that, Draco?" she said enthusiastically, nodding her head towards their house-mates. "_We _are brilliant," she told him, smiling with her eyebrows raised as if wanting him to confirm. He rolled his eyes.

"I'm not in the mood, Pans."

It was her turn to roll her eyes. "Cheer up, mate," she commented.

He sneered. _All right_, then they were only mates. _Glad that's confirmed_, he thought.

She turned to him again, eyebrows raised in that cocky manner that was typical for Pansy. "So, Potter said the Dark Lord's back and that your dad's a Death Eater, so bloody what?"

He looked up at her, superiorly questioning.

"Yeah," she went on loudly. "Who cares! Potter's a nutter, Draco. Nobody'll believe it."

She turned, looking at the match again. She was still in his lap.

He did not know if it was that, or if it was seeing Gryffindor lose, but something actually did improve his subsistence slightly.


	8. Slithering Slytherin

_Better Be Slytherin  
VIII_

Relieved and feeling like he could relax again, Draco began feeling like his usual self again. The previous week had been a bloody disaster, but thinking back at it – it was not such a big deal as he had felt it had been. Nothing would send his dad to prison, least of all Harry Potter's groundless accusation in that silly magazine. Draco snorted to himself as he finished his porridge.

That week went on normally at Hogwarts; Draco endured his long-winded Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons, Prefect-duties patrolling the dungeons with Pansy, long evenings after dinner in the Great Hall studying into late at night, and hanging out in the common room with Vincent and Gregory. Hearing about Hagrid being on probation had definitely made him merrier the past few days. Everything was as it always was once more, and Draco was pleased about it.

His Pepperup Potion turned out worse than Goyle's, and that was saying something. Snape could not find anything good to say about his potion which was an utter failure – he just glanced down into Draco's cauldron, and silently looked up with an awkward expression on his face, and walked past. _Argh! _Draco angrily shoved his bag up on his shoulder, cast a glance behind him and left the classroom and headed for the common room without waiting for Crabbe and Goyle.

He and Pansy still acted as friends – perhaps they were – he was not sure anymore. Neither of them however acted as anything more than that. Pansy was mostly with her girlfriends, and whenever she was with him Crabbe, Goyle and occasionally Nott and Zabini joined them, and they started discussing Quidditch – which teams were moving on in the League and which players who'd flown well this season and every detail of the latest Falcons match – Pansy simply whined and when they didn't stop, she left.

One day a couple of weeks after that horrid article was published, Draco was summoned to meet Umbridge and asked to bring a couple of reliable, Ministry-loyal friends.

Draco came hurrying into the common room through the whole in the wall. It closed behind him and he searched around the common room with his eyes, then he saw Pansy, Blaise, Gregory and Vincent around the fireplace, occupying the armchairs, and he made his way up to them.

He told Crabbe, Goyle and Pansy to hurry up and come, that he would explain on the way. Bulstrode, the troll, overheard what was going on and decided to come too. On their way up to the seventh floor where he had been instructed to meet Umbridge and Filch, they ran into sixth years Montague and Warrington accompanied by a large and sturdy girl, who wondered where they were off too in such haste. Draco quickly explained, his eyes glittering eagerly. They all joined in.

They met a breathless Umbridge who filled them in on the situation with malicious excitement – apparently Umbridge had suspected an illegal student organisation for a while now and she had finally caught them – and they were having a meeting right now in the seventh floor corridor! When Draco heard it was Potter and his friends, he too, became excited. They were all ordered out to different positions in the castle for a maximum chance of catching them.

Draco separated himself from his friends and hurried up to the seventh floor. He hid under a recess below an ugly dragon-shaped vase and waited for Potter and the rest, while Umbridge, Filch, Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy, Montague and the rest spread out doing the same. Everyone was at position and waiting for action. The seventh floor corridor was very quiet.

It stayed as silent for a couple of minutes, but then suddenly he heard it: first a distant cry, then running steps. Several of them. His heart started beating faster, he grabbed his wand at the ready. Most of the steps seemed to grow lower; they were going the opposite way, but he was sure – one set of feet were coming his way quickly, and just as they reach him, he reacts immediately, doesn't waste a second and hastily casts a trip-jinx.

Draco jumped out, spiteful and very content, as a head of black hair landed on the floor and skidded two meters on his front. Draco laughed loudly. It was Potter himself, lying by his feet. This must clearly be Draco's lucky day. _Sweet victory_, he thought smugly.

"Trip Jinx, Potter!' he triumphed. "Hey, Professor – PROFESSOR! I've got one!"

Umbridge came hurrying around the corner straight away. "It's him!" she said jubilantly at the sight of Potter on the floor. "Excellent, Draco, excellent, oh, very good – fifty points to Slytherin! I'll take him from here…"

Potter looked murderous as he got up, and Umbridge looked as happy as Draco felt.

"You hop along and see if you can round up anymore of them, Draco," she then told him. "Tell the others to look in the library-anybody out of breath-check the bathrooms, Miss Parkinson can do the girls' ones-off you go..."****

Draco hurried off to find Pansy with a broad smile on his face.

Unfortunately they didn't find any others the previous night, which Draco was malcontent over, but at least they had caught Potter and that was most important!

The next morning parchments with a specific message were posted on boards all around the castle – Umbridge had replaced Dumbledore as headmaster, which made Draco choke. Everyone gossiped about Dumbledore's departure, but no one really knew any details except that he was now marked a fugitive of the law. Draco hurried to Umbridge's office as soon as he'd seen it, to show his support and were his loyalties lie (he was sure there was something in it for him), hoping she had not moved to the headmaster's office yet because then he would have to walk the entire way back to the other side of the castle.

Knocking on the wooden door, he heard footsteps approaching and quickly in his mind went through what his basic objectives with this meeting were.

"Oh, good morning, Mr Malfoy." Dolores Umbridge stood before him, already in her gaudy pink suit and looking brisk as ever. He smiled a heartily smile, acknowledging her. "What can I do for you?"

"You see, professor, I saw the new announcement and I figured I wanted to show my support..."

He was invited into her small, sickly sweet and frumpily decorated office for tea. Umbridge's own cup was already standing reeking on her desk amongst a pile of essays which from the sight of it, looked like she had been about grading when he had arrived.

He realised soon that Umbridge wanted something from him, that she had taken this opportunity severely. He thought she was capable of being quite manipulative, that she slowly pursued what she wanted by using others. _Sly woman_, thought Draco and did nothing but smirk smoothly at her. She could be useful.

"How do you find school this year, Draco? How are you finding your assignments?" she asked him, sipping her tea, impassive. It was obviously a poser; it was not to be taken as lightly as most would have. Luckily, Draco had the brains that were needed for this kind of small talk that was not really small talk in the least.

"Oh, such an improvement, professor," he waved off, seemingly uninterested. Impressions were crucial – his life would be so much easier if she did not see him as a suck-up, so he would suck up discreetly. "Lectures are no bother. I've reckoned for a long time that someone should uproot the quality of the education at this school..."

"My thoughts exactly. Naturally, there are yet a few matters we have not managed to improve."

"Of course," agreed Draco.

"But they'll come around. They all will." For a brief moment, she looked almost deranged, staring out into the air with a hint of malice on her toad-like features.

Draco smiled sugary and Umbridge quickly stirred her cup and took another sip. "How are you parents? I remember Lucius popping in and out at the Ministry quite a bit, nice man, indeed..."

"Oh, they're well, thank you. Yes, he's done some work at the Ministry."

"Lovely. In times like these, it's important to show ones loyalty towards the Ministry... as well as its representatives."

"I definitely agree, professor."

And she reached what she, by the look of it, had planned to talk to him about the entire time. She had probably thought if very fit that Draco had popped into her office precisely this morning.

"I believe that you agree with me that this school needs some discipline and some orderliness," said Umbridge, putting down her small porcelain teacup on the table. She looked at him mildly.

"Exactly," said Draco eagerly, earning a small complacent smile from Umbridge.

"I knew you were a reliable young man, Draco. You have been of great help to Mr. Filch and myself of recent."

Draco smirked, and Umbridge continued: "I have, ever since I started working here in September, tried to do what I can for this school, with the committed help of Mr Filch and you Prefects, yet there is something missing. So I... forgive me – _Cornelius _and I came upon the idea of a special little group of students with higher status than the Prefects. This little group, or _squad_, would of course consist of a bit more serious and responsible students, much like yourself perhaps."

Umbridge sipped her tea for effect, innocent expression on her face. Draco nodded, encouraging.

"The members of this squad would of course also be able to take points from other Prefects, as they would have higher status." She looked content as she said this, knowing full well that Draco would accept anything with this offer.

She paused, letting Draco think. He could not say he was not allured. He knew he was being manipulated, but he liked everything he had heard so far so, why not? He would be able to dock points from King Weasley, for instance, increasing the latter's humiliation.

"What do you say, Mr Malfoy? Does being a Prefect start feeling a bit boring? Do you want something greater than that?"

She was basically offering him power. He realised he would have a great deal of work convincing the other Slytherins to join as well, since they had been quite anti-Umbridge, but he could manage...

He left Umbridge's office ten minutes later, a shiny new badge on his robe below his Prefect badge with a big "I". Apparently Umbridge had had quite a bit more than an _idea_ of this Inquisitorial Squad, as she called it, since she had opened her desk drawer and plucked out a bunch of finished badges identical the one Draco was now sporting on his chest.

Draco praised his own cleverness and luck.


	9. Friendly Kisses

_Better Be Slytherin  
IX_

That night in the common room he told everyone – Theodore and Blaise lost interest quite immediately despite Draco telling them in the most enthralling way he could, which rather annoyed him. They really needed to sort out their priorities – why sit alone reading when you could actually do something and make things better!

Pansy, however, was in immediately, which pleased him, and she told him enthusiastically she would try to persuade some of her friends as well. Warrington, Bletchley and a couple of the older chaps seemed interested as well. Draco felt very content and merry that night. He'd manage to bring over a number of people – Umbridge would be satisfied, he reckoned.

Pansy was hanging off his arm all night and he enjoyed her attention. Now that he was in centre of attention in the Slytherin common room it seemed she liked to show she was his counterpart.

When they were on their way to bed that evening, after a casual hug before going off into separate dormitories, she felt Draco placing a peck on her head. They broke the hug and she hastily glanced at him, shocked, before they went down to respective dormitories. She was frowning all the way down the staircase. She did not know why he did it and for some reason her heart was beating faster. _It's only because we've become much better mates in the past couple of months_, she told herself. Only because they liked hanging out together, as friends...

Theodore didn't like Umbridge. Not just that, he disliked her. Strongly. He found Malfoy pathetic, trying to persuade them all to join her cause. Theodore would certainly not strut around with fake authority and do her bidding like Malfoy. _Oh,_ Theodore thought and cringed. Malfoy had potential, why would he waste it on silly matters such this?

His thoughts were interrupted by Pansy's shrieking laughter from the back of the classroom. He turned around automatically, annoyed. She was clearly enjoying something Malfoy was telling her sniggering. A few other students turned around at the shrill sound, but Pansy did not seem abashed – he would've guessed she only enjoyed the attention, whether good or bad, judging from her slight smirk over the classroom.

Both of them were doing his head in, especially today for some reason – perhaps he was just tired. Neither of them were exactly the sharpest knives in the drawer, yet they seemed to slide through life silver-spoon in mouth. Everything Theodore struggled for uprightly and honourably, they received by plain manipulation. Theodore had O's in every subject at Hogwarts – even Arithmancy and Ancient Runes which most students did not even dare to take on, because he spent all of his time reading (not that he was complaining, it was his favourite activity) while even Pansy Parkinson would move on to advanced Potions next year because she used her position as a Prefect and made some younger student do her homework continuously for her. Malfoy was the same. Not to mention how neither of them were pleasurable or nice people yet still had more "friends" than himself.

One day he would show them all.

One night a couple of days later they were studying in Draco's dormitory like any other night. Well, studying _a little_ at least – they had a huge essay on the Giant Wars in History of Magic until that Friday and he had only just begun. Pansy was entertaining him as usual, while he was _trying_ to study.

She was talking about everything that had happened lately – about Potter's article, Umbridge and the Squad, while he only half-listened, actually really wanting to get the essay finished so he could get some sleep, and somehow she came upon the matter of whether Potter and Dumbledore were mad or not and whether the Dark Lord then had returned or not. Draco stiffened.

"What do you think – is he off his rocker?" She glanced at him, and he looked away, but not able to hide his small smile. He always enjoyed knowing more than others. Her eyes narrowed.

"What do you know?" She had a curious, almost excited smile on her features.

"About what?" Draco frowned, he really wasn't as clever as he made himself out to be, in Pansys opinion.

She rolled her eyes, "about the Dark Lord of course!"

"Shh!" Draco hissed automatically. But the dormitory was empty except for them (and the fifth year Slytherin boys' dormitory wouldn't be the most dangerous place to discuss such things, anyway), which Pansy made clear by motioning to the room with raised eyebrows.

"Well?" Pansy went on.

Draco sent her a mysterious look, hint of a smirk on his face.

"What?" She raised her voice, curious and demanding. "You should tell me!"

"Why?" He sneered. He could read her like a book - it irritated her. He knew she hated not getting her way.

"Er, because…" She began, exasperated. But she obviously couldn't find a good reason. "Why shouldn't you?"

"Err, because you're not a Death Eater," he said, slightly derisively.

She snorted. "And you are?"

"I didn't say that"

"I still think you should tell me," she muttered and turned back down to her essay.

Draco smirked, not looking up from his own. "Leave it."

Pansy groaned. They were silent for ten minutes or so, she was pouting over her essay, and he felt amused over her reaction. He knew he couldn't possibly tell Pansy anything, right? She was not inducted – well, neither was he, a voice inside him said, and yet his father told him plenty. Well, not plenty – perhaps Draco made it out to be more than it actually was, bu the knew _some_. Anyway, all he knew was that the Dark Lord was back. Pansy agreed with his views anyway, and so did her family, so what was the harm in telling her that one thing, really?

"All right."

Pansy looked up and her eyes met his. When she had understood what he meant, she gave a little squeal as she clapped her hands together. Draco rolled his eyes at her, and she moved closer, beaming with a smug look on her face.

"I knew you'd crack," she smirked. "You can't deny me."

Draco sniggered. "Yeah, right." He couldn't think of anything wittier to say than that.

"Tell me!" she said excitedly.

"Haven't your dad told you anything?" he asked, putting his essay aside.

She frowned. "My dad thinks it's patethic following a half-blood around like that," she said simply. For a second he did not know what to reply. She had openly divulged that her Pureblooded father opposed the Dark Lord – her father would most definitely be approached by the Death Eaters about joining: he was the perfect candidate. This information was dangerous to be tossing around. He wondered if she was just speaking without thinking like usual or if she said it because she trusted him.

"Does he now?" replied Draco slowly. He wondered what Mr Parkinson said in the privacy of his own home, about the Dark Lord, and probably about Draco's father as well – Mr Parkinson and his dad were Hogwarts acquaintances, only Mr Parkinson had never joined the Death Eater despite his blood-status and his views. He had chosen a path within the Ministry and was now a high-ranking Ministry official and it was no secret that he looked down on Lucius Malfoy for reasons Draco did not fully apprehend. Draco wondered whether Mr Parkinson had spoken badly about him as well.

"Anyway, Potter's right. The Dark Lord returned in June and tried to kill him. And succeeded in killing Diggory."

"Really?" she seemed a little surprised.

"Yes, really," he said, leaning back on the bed. Pansy looked down into her lap, pondering this.

"Then why's the Ministry saying all those things about him and Dumbledore?" she asked, eyes narrowed.

He shrugged. "I dunno, really. But that's just in our favour, because He doesn't want anyone to know yet."

Pansy looked up. "Right. So what does he want to do?"

It felt odd having this conversation in such a casual manner with her. "I don't really know," Draco admitted.

There was another very long silence – Pansy seemed to be pondering all of this in her mind, and they continued studying. After a while, it seemed like she had stopped thinking about it, because she started crooning on the latest hit off the WWN. He would not have expected her to take what he had said so casually. But he was glad she did. He kept on reading in his History of Magic book, to try to decide what to write down next, to go on with the essay.

"Sod it, can you remember which year it started?" groaned Draco a little while later, interrupting her low singing, or rather mumbling.

"I haven't the foggiest," Pansy mumbled.

"My notes are contradicting themselves," Draco went on.

"Yeah? I'm sure you can ferret it out, Malfoy," said Pansy teasingly, knowing full well he had an odd problem with ferrets since his forth year, not looking up from her own roll of parchment.

"Hag," Draco sniggered, sending her a look. She laughed.

"Can't remember whether it was 1874 or 84. It says 84 here," he showed her a part of his parchment, "and I do think I remember Binns saying something about 84, but at the same time, you know how his voice always tend to make me fall asleep… And it says 74 here. It might've been 1784 actually…"

Pansy laughed loudly. "That there doesn't make one bloody bit of sense."

He pulled his essay back and snorted: "Yes it does, if you're not the dumbest person in all of Britain."

Pansy reached out and hit him immediately, laughing. "Oh right, _I_ am – that's rich coming from you actually! You're the one who couldn't figure it out with that patethic excuse of a brain of yours…"

"Right!" he gave a snort-laugh and pushed her away. "I would hit you back, but I don't want to kill off any more of your brain-cells, don't think you can handle losing any more…"

Pansy laughed. "Sod off! Yeah, thanks a bunch—"

"Plus, you're a girl," he went on, teasing her. "Wouldn't be fair. You wouldn't have a chance."

"Oh, yeah – going to send Vince and Greg on me, are you?" she hastily retorted, knowing exactly how to reach him. "Because you don't do a lot of the heavy labour yourself, do you?"

He laughed reluctantly. "Shut it…"

She leaned back and threw a Bertie Bott's Bean at him, while picking up a chocolate frog and stuffing it into her mouth. He dodged the Bean with his arm as she picked up another one and tossed it, laughing.

"Actually, can I get that one back – I think that was a candy floss one," she laughed and reached out her arm.

"Are you joking?" he said, sniggering, and picking it up and throwing it back at her. She picked it up and put it in her mouth. Her face immediately screwed up.

"Ugh, no, soap," she grunted, frowning deeply, looking like she was sniffing a dungbomb. She picked up another couple ones and proceeded throwing them at his head. He defended himself with his arm, dodging them, and sent them bouncing off his arm and flying in opposite directions of the dormitory.

"You do know I've got Quidditch reflexes."

She laughed teasingly. "Oh, do you? Would love to see them come out once or twice at matches!"

That remark made him suddenly pushed her away to make her stop tossing them at him (it was irritating after all and made it impossible to focus), mock-angry with what she said. "Say that again, Pansy!" he said, ruffling her hair in the process. She was warm when he tickled her sides. She shrieked while laughing: "Draco, stop it!" and pushed him back.

He smirked and leaned back against the pillows against the wall, his roll of parchment with the half-finished essay and History of Magic book in his lap.

"Oh, someone's sensitive," Pansy taunted. He sent her a derisive look, as if she was stupid, but neither of them could refrain from grinning.

"Stuff your fat gob… Past your bedtime, anyway, isn't it?" he teased, indicating that he wanted her to leave. "Time to get going."

Pansy only laughed.

"You're better than Vince and Greg at least, I'll give you that," Pansy said. "At Quidditch, that is!" she added when he started sniggering.

"I'd say I'm better than Montague and Warrington as well," Draco drawled. "And Pucey!" he added. _Horse-teethed twit_.

"So you're the best player of the entire team, are you?" Pansy snorted teasingly.

"Do you disagree?" he smirked. Pansy only laughed, rolling her eyes.

"Montague really thinks he's God's gift to the Quidditch pitch, doesn't he?" she said then. "Be nice to be rid of them all next year."

Draco sniggered, agreeing. "He's a dictator," he stated.

Pansy gave a giggle and then turned back down to her essay, so he did the same. They continued with their homework for a while, until Pansy yawned loudly.

"Ugh, this is doing my head in. I don't care about Giants," Pansy emphasised. "I can't be bothered with it, to be honest."

She then started laughing, despite not having gained his attention. "Do one of your impressions," she ordered.

He looked up, rolling his eyes. "Of whom?"

She lit up. "Er, doesn't matter," she giggled. "A Gryffindor. Potter!"

Draco reluctantly gave in – he did need to to a bit more of this essay tonight, but he did enjoy doing impressions of Potter.

It turned out to be more than one impression – Pansy demanded in laughs that he would do more – she wanted one of Hagrid, of Dumbledore, of King Weasley, even of Crabbe – and her uncontrollable giggles had him agreeing to it.

One second, they were laughing heartedly together at the expense of Granger, and the other, they were close – she did not know how it had happened, but before either of them knew what was happening, she felt him breathing into her open mouth before their lips met, sending warm signals and a tingling sensation through her, making her heart bear faster. Their lips brushed against each other, before she opened her mouth and his tongue slipped in, meeting hers in a mixture of warmth and wetness.

The door jerked open and before she had time to register anything, noisy and messy boys had arrived, shouting and laughing. They broke the kiss immediately – Pansy jumped and returned to reality, while Draco, dizzy-looking, confusedly looked over his shoulder.

Crabbe Goyle, Zabini and Nott had all arrived from the common room to go to bed. Pansy hastily straightened up, and put her hair behind her ears, hastily bolting up from the bed without looking at Draco, whom she suddenly felt unusually awkward around.

"Right, see you," she mumbled hastily with the simple reply of: "yeah," from Draco's part. As she went for the door, she was met by four stunned boys, who hastily began grinning. She ignored them and ignored the small smile that crept up on her lips and hastily left the dormitory.

One thought pounded through her mind in those split seconds, over and over. _She could not possibly fancy Draco could she?_

He had been playing Quidditch all night, their team-captain Montague reprimanding them repeatedly for the latest match; he would not have it turn out as bad the next match, he made that perfectly clear. Pansy and a few of her friends had arrived to the pitch at the second half of practice – Draco was considerably less focused that part of the match – and when they were finished and had showered and changed, she waited for him outside the changing rooms in the now dark. He noticed her friends sauntering away to leave them alone.

She smirked at him and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "You were brilliant," she said. He motioned for his team-mates to go on back to the castle without him, and as he slung his bag further up on his shoulder, he smirked back and said with a casual tone, "Oh, that was nothing..."

Pansy grabbed his broom and he admired her boldness, and she laughed, "Merlin... it's so difficult staying up on these... I just keep falling off whenever I go on one."

"You're crap," he agreed. She hit him, grinning, "Draco!"

"Well, teach me then..."

"Right. But don't think I'll go easy on you, just because you're you," he warned.

She gave him a mock-angry look with one raised eyebrow. "You don't have to go easy on me!" she said daringly and a bit too naively, seeing as he knew she had only played Quidditch a very few times in her life because the falling off only made her angry. And that mixed with her stubbornness was not exactly a recipe for success.

He could not, though, help not to admire how much she wanted to prove herself to him. She always made an effort to prove that she was just as good as he was at everything, that she was on the same level as him. She had to make him sure that she was not a silly little girl. It had been like that since the day they met.

Oddly enough, that was something he liked about her. He liked how that made him feel.


	10. Girlfriend, I Suppose

_Better Be Slytherin  
_X

It was a usual morning at the Slytherin table. Most of his classmates were hovering over the table, yawning and prodding themselves up on their fists, eyes red from too little sleep; Crabbe and Goyle were the only ones looking sharp and alert, stuffing their faces with bacon and sausages. Pansy was sitting a few seats away with her gang of girls.

Draco, Crabbe and Goyle left for the dungeons, Potions was their first lecture that morning. Snape was writing on the blackboard when they entered the classroom. Draco and his friends went for the tables at the front – where the Slytherins always sat. He spoke a few words to Nott who sat down next to Goyle, and in the ruckus Pansy had landed next to him and he felt her shoulder touching his.

He stiffened up a bit and moved away his arm. He got out his copy of _Magical Drafts and Potions _and studied its front-page.

"Silence," came Snape's silky voice as he turned from the blackboard to face them. His classmates' chatting immediately faded away.

"Buggering hell, look at my potion!" exclaimed Pansy to his left, he turned and noticed she was turned away from him, probably staring demandingly at Bulstrode, who only sniggered. Looking down into Pansy's cauldron, Draco could not help but to snigger as well.

Pansy turned to him, mock-glaring and said: "Like yours is any better."

Draco kept stirring his and Goyle's brew while Goyle were scrutinising the book, and smirked. "Just you taste this," he said challengingly. She raised one eyebrow, hesitant – but then she shrugged and smirked and scooped up some of their laugh-inducing Potion with her spoon and swallowed it.

Her face immediately screwed up and she wrinkled her nose. "Ugh, that tastes like Kneazle crap!" she exclaimed.

Draco sniggered. "That something you're familiar with, then?"

She gave him a glare. "You know what I mean! Ugh that was..." she trailed off and started giggling. "That was horrible," she laughed out.

"At least our potion works," sniggered Goyle. Draco gave a laugh. Pansy looked well silly, giggling uncontrollably.

"Oh, Merlin," she laughed.

"At least now you don't look like a right hag," sniggered Draco at her, "with all the laughing," he managed to get out as she hit him on the arm repeatedly, still not stopping the laughter.

"Sod off, Draco!"

He just sniggered and turned back to his and Goyle's potion to add the finishing touch, but he could not focus for Pansy kept on laughing.

Starting to laugh himself, he called out for Snape: "Sir! Our potion is done and working!"

Snape strode over and checked their concoction. Then he turned to Pansy slowly, realising that she was laughing. He looked like he was just about to ask what was so funny, but then he added two and two. "Well done, boys," he said and nodded to him and Goyle. "A fine example."

He left and Pansy kept on laughing. "This is actually starting to become a bother," she said. "I can't even work on my potion."

"Whatever," Draco dismissed, leaning back in his chair with his arms outstretched, feeling pleased with himself.

"You know, I had a nice time last night," said Pansy from out of the blue. Her laughter had started to trail off, she only giggled every once in a while. He turned to her and gave a small smile, suddenly not feeling as confident anymore.

They shared a look for a long second, and then she burst out: "Are you my boyfriend, Draco?"

Draco felt his cheeks go warm. He dared not to look anywhere but straight forward. Then he croaked out a short: "I suppose."

From the corner of his eye, he noticed Pansy's eyes widening.

"You my girlfriend then?" he asked before he could stop himself.

Pansy firmly avoided looking at him. "Yes."

Draco was content and merry for the rest of the day. On the way back from Herbology, his day turned even better when he saw Potter, Weasley, Granger and Macmillan further ahead and hurried after them with Crabbe and Goyle at his sides to show off his new badge. He couldn't wait to see the looks on their faces.

"Lording it over all the other teachers, the stupid puffed-up, power-crazy old –" Granger was the one speaking.

Draco smirked maliciously and interrupted: "Now, do you _really_ want to finish that sentence, Granger?"

All four of them turned around to look at them, surprised. As nobody spoke, Draco Draco took the liberty once more, drawling: "Afraid I'm going to have to dock a few point from Gryffindor and Hufflepuff"

"You can't take points from fellow prefects, Malfoy," said Macmillan at once. Draco felt his face screw up into a big smile.

"I know _prefects_ can't dock points from each other," he began. Vincent and Gregory sniggered. "But members of the Inquisitional Squad –"

"The _what_?" said Granger sharply.

"The inquisitorial squad, Granger," said Draco, pointing towards his 'I'-badge on his robe. "A select group of students who are supportive of the Ministry of Magic, hand-picked by Professor Umbridge. Anyway, members of the Inquisitional Squad _do_ have the power to dock points… so, Granger, I'll have five from you for being rude about our new Headmistress. Macmillan, five for contradicting me. Five because I don't like you, Potter. Wallasey, your shirt's untucked, so I'll have another five for that. Oh yeah, I forgot, you're a Mudblood, Granger, so ten off for that."

Weasley pulled out his wand, but Granger pushed it away. "Don't!" she whispered.

"Wise move, Granger," hissed Draco. "New Head, new times... be good now, Potty... Weasel King..."

And _there_ was the looks on their faces he had longed for. He laughed heartedly and strolled along with Crabbe and Goyle. He felt blissful.

Later that day, round lunch, those ruddy Weasley twins had a loud departure from Hogwarts, jinxing Umbridge and the Squad on the go – luckily Draco was down in the dungeons at the time of the attack, but Pansy was hit by a hex that made her sprout a pair of antlers – she refused him visiting her in the hospital wing (probably for the best, he would only have laughed at her anyway).

The chaos continued all through the day and the next when they after dinner discovered that Montague, who had been missing since Wednesday's Quidditch practice, had reappeared – _in a toilet on the forth floor_. Draco was ordered Headmistress Umbridge to run down and fetch Snape. So he hurried down to Snape's room down in the dungeouns. When he reached the office, he hastily pulled the door open and rushed inside.

"Professor Snape... oh... sorry..." Draco looked surprisedly around at the odd sight that met him. Professor Snape pointing his wand at... Potter.

"It's all right, Draco," said Snape and lowered his wand. "Potter's here for some remedial potions."

Draco immediately felt blissful. Could this day get any better? "I didn't know that," he said, casting a derisive glance at Potter who looked shameful.

"Well, Draco, what is it?" said Snape. Draco tore his eyes off Potter.

"It's professor Umbridge, sir, she needs your help. They found Montague, he showed up again, in a toilet on the forth floor."

"How did he get there?" Snape asked him.

"I don't know, sir, he's a bit confused."

"Well, then, Potter, we'll continue this lesson tomorrow evening." Snape turned round and sweeped away from the office. Draco mimed inaudibly to Potter 'remedial potions?' behind the Potions master's ack before following in his tracks. Potter looked angry, which gladdened Draco. He smirked and hurried after Snape back up to the forth floor corridor to sort out this mess.

An hour or so later, when they had managed to get Graham out of the toilet, and he'd been brought to the Infirmary, mumbling and babbling confusedly about his experience, Draco, Crabbe, Goyle and the rest of the Inquisitorial Squad members could finally return to the Slytherin common room. Entering the dimly lit, greenish room, he noticed Pansy over by the hard sofas by the fireplace, babbling on excitedly to her gang of friends. Apparently she had just been released from the Infirmary, her antlers now clearly gone.

Draco told everyone about the awkward moment in Snape's office with Potter earlier that evening, and Pansy was the one laughing the loudest and he gave her a kiss for it.

He reckoned none of them knew how to behave in a relationship, which was why they simply kept on being their usual selves. They were good friends, mocking Potter together and entertaining their friends together, and the only rare affection they showed was an occasional hug and a few sloppy, fiery snogs in a corridor on prefect patrols. They just kept on being like they always had been.

Theodore knew he was not well-liked. He was not particularly social, he did not have many friends, and the girls did not find his scrawny, moody existence to be good-looking. He was quite colourless – pale and thoughtful. He never usually spoke because nobody in his surroundings was respectable enough to hear his thoughts. They were all stupid and silly and he knew so much more than them. So she chose to not be part of their silly gangs.

He liked the company of Blaise Zabini, though. They shared common grounds and they could at least have a decent chat. Malfoy was all right as well, when he was not trying to be fawned over by Pansy, or going on and on about his opinions on school, the Dark Lord, Harry Potter, Dumbledore, or _anything_. Theodore had hardly ever exchanged a word with Pansy or the other girls outside the class-room. Crabbe and Goyle were purposeless and brainless followers.

Theodore had his own life; much more important things than the company of people his age. He had great ambitions, which was why – except for the obvious interest – he studied much. His dad was old and a Death Eater, having always hammered in his takes on everything into Theodore's head – so he knew exactly where his values lay. He knew how he felt about everything in the entire world.

He had more important things on his mind than chasing girls or making friends.

He and Zabini sat in the dim light in a far corner of the common room, each reading a book quietly. Feeling himself yawn, he realised he was getting tired. The common room was dark with the absence of daylight, and his watch pointed at twenty past ten.

"I'm going off to bed," he muttered to Zabini who only grunted "'night, mate" in response.

As he turned the doorknob to their dorm, Theodore made out a girl's giggle from inside. _That's odd_, he reckoned and opened the door. Malfoy and Pansy snogging on Malfoy's bed was the sight that awaited him within. Malfoy pulled away when he heard the door open, Nott had only seen Malfoy's pale back since Malfoy was on top, and now that Malfoy turned he revealed Pansy who was lying there in only underwear. A jolt went through Theodore's stomach and he stared one second too long.

"Oh," frowned Malfoy, "It's you."

"Yeah, sorry," said Theodore. "Was just going to bed."

"No worries," answered Malfoy.

"No, I'll just... come back in a while."

"All right, mate." Malfoy turned back to his half-naked – Theodore presumed – _girlfriend_? – who looked slightly annoyed that Nott had burst in and disturbed them, stolen Malfoy's attention from her for a few seconds. And for a moment he could not help but to watch their bodies interact, watch her hands on his back, watch their tongues and lips play... Then he swallowed and went for the exit, firmly staring at the door on his way out.

Well outside he realised that he had nothing to do out there. He only had a few pages left in his book and Zabini was still reading so he could not hang out with him either. _Buggering hell_.

He told himself it was natural that he wanted to look; he was curious and in his puberty and it was the first time he saw a girl without her shirt on. It was natural. It was not because it was Pansy.

After standing there for a few minutes, annoyed with himself for leaving the dormitory, he sighed and opened the door again.

"You're back quick," sniggered Pansy. She and Malfoy were still on his bed, kissing. He avoided looking over there.

"Yeah, sorry, just..." he trailed off, not knowing what to say, and lamely ended the sentence with, "I finished my book." Reaching his bed, he pulled out the curtains and changed to his pyjamas behind. He felt uncomfortable with a girl in the room; one could not do what came naturally.

"Goodnight, Nott," he heard Malfoy saying.

"Yeah, night, Nott." Pansy sounded like she was hiding laughter, and he could imagine her smiling tauntingly.


	11. Carpe Diem, Baby

_Better Be Slytherin_  
XI  
_Carpe Diem, Baby_

He did not know why – it might have been a strange thought to imagine a year or so ago – but he and Malfoy were getting more and more along. Theodore still had not been talking much to anyone else, but he and Malfoy shared a few evenings in the common room together – studying quietly, or discussing the break-out from Azkaban. He actually found Malfoy not as dim-witted and ignorant as he usually did. He was all right when they were alone. He was surprised with how quickly Malfoy accepted him as a friend; perhaps he was only grateful for a break from Crabbe and Goyle sometimes.

The dungeons were not as freezing cold anymore; you could actually see green spots in between the icy snow outside the castle – the horrid winter was beginning to ease up. March came along and schoolwork took up most of Theodore's time, as usual. One Saturday, Malfoy suggested they go down to Hogsmeade to look at new Quidditch gloves (for Malfoy, naturally). He agreed, how bad could that be?

Half-an hour or so after they had left the castle, Malfoy had remembered that he had promised to meet Pansy, and that he was already late. Theodore had no choice, and had to come along, although very reluctantly.

"She's just going to have to cope, or else it's her problem," muttered Malfoy as they entered the Three Broomsticks. Theodore could not help but to feel slightly insecure – he did not want to spend time with Pansy, she was a mean and obnoxious girl, she would silently judge him and probably patronise him as well. He hastily followed behind Malfoy's back, through the crowded, cheerful and warm pub and just wanted to turn around and go back to the castle. He was not looking forward to being a third wheel on _this _date. He sighed inwardly. They reached the far end of the place where Pansy had grabbed a table. She shone up and rose up to hug Malfoy, and as they kissed, her eyes travelled to the side where Theodore awkwardly stood.

Pansy hastily broke the kiss, surprised. "What's _he _doing here?" Theodore hated how she spoke of him as if he was a four year-old, or as if he was not there. He wondered if she meant to be mean or if she just spoke that way, boldly and before thinking, without the intention of harm. Malfoy calmly opened his mouth.

"Well, something came up. We were buying Quidditch gloves. See?" he brought up his new gloves and showed them to her, to distract her, Theodore got the feeling, as he led her to sit down again by a hand on her back. Theodore joined them hastily. He was afraid Pansy would say things like what she had just said, treating him like he was not worth talking to – or if he would say something wrong, that she would tell her little girlfriends that he was not only a loner but a stuttering loner with a pea-brain. Or something like that. He studied her suspiciously.

He could not help but to glance at the curve at her chest, but he hastily looked away and felt his cheeks go warm. It was not as if he was attracted to Pansy, he was just incredibly curious of the opposite sex. Especially breasts. _Think of something else_, he urged himself, embarrassed. He felt like a sick old man.

He listened to their conversation; mainly Malfoy was the one who talked. He simply nodded in response and listened.

Eventually, when he felt secure, he threw in a few words in their gaps, and soon he was talking too.

As he started to spend more time with Malfoy, he automatically started spending a bit more time with Pansy as well, seeing as she was his girlfriend. And he did realise that she was not as bad as he had thought. She was all right, and he began to feel more secure in front of her. He realised that perhaps there was more to her than loudly making snide comments to other students and high-pitched giggling behind people's backs.

He reckoned the reason he and Malfoy were getting along well was because they were the only two in their year whose fathers were Death Eaters. Well, not counting Crabbe and Goyle, and for some reason you never did count Crabbe and Goyle.

Perhaps Malfoy found him a little more sensible. Theodore was very prejudiced, he realised, and people must have thought things about him that were not true, since he thought things about them. He was haughty like Zabini, he admitted, but he did never promote and boast neither about his father being a Death Eater nor of his own future plans. He regarded himself clever, independent, and ambitious – a true Slytherin. He was a nice person, but he could understand why some of his house-mates found him a little intimidating or uneasy because he rarely spoke and read so much, and perhaps did not laugh the most. But he really was not a frightening person.

Sometimes, he regretted making this impression, because he would really want to try talking to girls and kissing them and everything that all the other boys did. Yet, he would never be anything that he was not, he would never change who he was for anyone. It did not matter that he was awkward around girls – although, admittedly, he hated being like that, because it was not his real self, and he felt silly, he _was _confident otherwise. He did not know where it had come from. He had never had that problem before, finding it difficult to talk to girls, being all stiff and sweaty when he did, but he supposed that was before he developed another kind of interest for them. Before, he supposed, he had not cared about them.

The following few weeks passed by in a happy blur for Pansy. She enjoyed spending all possible time with Draco, having late-night prefect duties with him, joking about and writing mean things about other students on the blackboard in classrooms – they were invincible, they were the best. Everything was different this year, she reckoned. She and Draco were not only friends but now _a couple;_ she was a Prefect and a member of the Inquisitorial Squad. Life was High Inquisitor was definitely making some changes around the castle, for instance she sacked professor Trelawney, the wacky Divination teacher (Draco had found it funny).

Life was, indeed, brilliant.

Easter Holidays came along quickly, and before they knew it, it was time to go home. Draco spent a great deal of it with Pansy, just being silly. She did that to him, having angry stare games challenging each other – naturally he won every time, she could never keep a straight face for long – she tried both tickling him and hitting him for him to start laughing or look away; rowing afterwards; "I won!" "Are you joking?!". It was always the same. He grew to enjoy it very much. There were bad moments, as well, though, naturally. They were both so incredibly stubborn and would never admit to being wrong, which had them arguing, discussing and sitting in silence refusing to be the first one to say sorry. Pansy would say that he was the most self-righteous person she'd ever known, and he would say "Yeah, except you!"

April came along and they returned to Hogwarts. Pamphlets and brochures regarding different sorts of Wizarding professions lay spread over the tables in the Slytherin common room, along with an additional message on the board – "Career's advice– all fifth-years are required to attend a short meeting with their Head of House during the first week of the summer term to discuss their future careers. Times of individual appointments are listed below."

St Mungo's healer... at least an Exceeds Expectations at N.E.W.T-level in Potions, Herbology, Charms, Transfiguration _and_ Defence against the Dark Arts were necessary. High standards, indeed. _Never_, thought Draco and snorted to himself as he tossed the brochure down.

They were all in the common room. Goyle were having his usual after-dinner cupcakes, groggily looking at a brochure about training safety-trolls (seemed like a fitting job for Greg, indeed, thought Draco; not very demanding of intellect), while Pansy were entertaining them as usual.

Draco then tossed away an orange brochure about Muggle-contact into the fireplace and watched it burn to ash.

"Have you lot seen Snape yet?" Pansy said to the group of him, Theodore, Zabini, Vincent and Gregory.

"What for?" grunted Vincent.

"For careers advice, you troll," said Pansy impatiently, rolling her eyes. "You were off this morning, weren't you, Blaise, what did you talk about?"

Zabini shrugged. "Snape looked over my marks. Laid out a few suggestions, but I already know, I told him I want to work with economy, so he gave me a brochure about Gringott's. That was about it."

Pansy was frowning. "Like a common goblin," she mumbled.

"What's that?" Zabini said hastily, looking up and piercing his dark eyes on Pansy.

Pansy gave a half-shrug and smiled a brilliant smile. "Nothing."

"Actually," Zabini said sharply, who hadn't escaped hearing Pansy's comment, "it takes a lot of qualifications. It's loads about travelling and adventure and it pays great. Not that I've got to explain anything to you - I suppose you'll be pushing the trolley at the Hogwarts express in a few years."

Pansy snorted loudly and indignantly and glared at Zabini, while Draco and the others sniggered heartily.

"D'you want to take a look at this one, Pansy?" asked Theodore Nott casually as he finished one of the brochures – from the ministry.

"Nah, you're all right," Pansy said, and then she lit up, excited: "I already know what I want to do!"

Draco couldn't help but to give a little smile. "What's that then?"

"Well, I reckon since I always know everything that's going on at Hogwarts, gossip-wise, I mean – I reckon I'd be perfect at having my own gossip column in the Prophet or in Witch Weekly, wouldn't I?"

Blaise sniggered.

"Not really aiming high, are you," mumbled Draco.

"Oh, right, 'cos you'll be Minister of Magic, eh?" Pansy retorted hastily.

"Actually," Draco said with a smirk, "I might. Let's have a look at that Ministry one, Nott!"

The next day in Potions consisted of brewing Strength Potions. At the end of the lesson Potter walked ahead to leave his bottle of the potion on Snape's desk, and when he turned to make his way back to the Gryffindor side of the classroom, it rolled down onto the floor and with a crash the fragile glass vial broke and the potion inside splattered all over the stone floor.

Draco gave out a delighted, loud laugh. Potter always managed to fill his school-days with hilarity.

Next lesson was History of Magic, but luckily for Draco, that was when his career's advice appointment with Snape had been planned, so he left the others feeling very content and took his time strolling down the dungeons to Snape's office while everyone else moved in the opposite directions to get to their next lesson. He wondered briefly what they would speak about, Draco didn't have a clue what he would do after Hogwarts, did he? And he didn't really _need _to do anything either, not for financial reasons anyway – he would be set. He supposed he was to follow in his father's footsteps with the Dark Lord, and that was not something he opposed.

"Good afternoon, sir!"

Draco stepped inside Snape's small office in the dungeons and closed the door behind him. Snape's lip curled.

"Please, sit."

Draco briefly wondered why Snape never could be the least merry, not eve to _him_, his favourite student and Godson. But he hastily sat down nonetheless.

"Well, then, Draco," his Head of House began, and then he went on monotonely: "we're here to talk about your future plans for work as well as to decide what subjects you should go on taking next and seventh year."

"Right."

"Have you thought about what you'd like to do when you leave Hogwarts?" Snape asked, in a tone as if Draco was a bit dumb. Draco gave a small smile, a curl of his lip.

"You know what I want to do."

He almost hadn't dared to say it, but he reckoned it would be all right. Snape looked away (Draco had hoped he would've smiled or at least showed his appreciation in some other way. He didn't.)

"Don't be silly, Draco," was what he said. Draco frowned. "You can't possibly leave Hogwarts without a decent education, thinking the Dark Lord will want you. You've got to find some goals for the future, I would suggest."

Draco rolled his eyes.

Snape went on, in a chilly tone: "I recommend that you go on with potions –after all you've got a certain talent..." Draco knew Snape was being optimistic – he wasn't particularly gifted in Potions, he did averagely. This was definitely a discouraging thought.

"As if he'll care," Draco muttered. Snape trailed off and looked up at him. Draco was unable to read his face.

"Do you think he wants some uneducated brats hanging after him? Don't be silly."

_Had Snape just called him a brat?_ Draco felt his blood running faster in his veins, his face growing hot. He sulked all the way through the rest of their appointment, while Snape kept giving him tips about further education, jobs within the Ministry and telling him all about which subjects to go on taking and what marks to go for.

Bastard.


	12. What Happens in Hogsmeade

_Better Be Slytherin  
_XII_  
What Happens in Hogsmeade..._

Following the Weasley twins' dramatic departure from the school, chaos erupted at Hogwarts, consisted of an open rebellion against Umbridge and her Inquisitorial Squad. There were dosens of cases of fever, vomiting or faint attacks everytime Miss Umbridge walked into a classroom, each and every day, not to mention all the Dungbombs, and Peeves going mad. The Inquisitorial Squad found themselves attacked every now and then – Warrington ended up in the hospital wing with some sort of skin problem which made him look like he was covered in cornflakes, as well as Pansy's antlers. On top of that, Montague had gone absolutely mad when he'd been found in that toilet which Draco dutifully had reported to professor Snape. He'd been mumbling dizzily about being stuck between two cabinets, which seemed like absolute nonsense, of course – and his parents had no choice but to come and fetch him off school, taking him away for a few days to get his confusedness and desorientation checked up at St. Mungos, before finally being able to return to school.

"You _can't_ catch the Snitch too quickly," Montague was pestering Draco patiently a couple of days later in the common room in front of the fire. "We've got to be up by _at least_ seventy if we shall go on in the series. So if you see it before then – you've _got_ to keep Potter off it, you know, fly off in the opposite direction as if you're going for the Snitch. He'll follow you… Or actually go after it, block Potter meanwhile until it's flown off again, and wait for Pucey and the rest to've scored a wee bit more. Got that?"

"Potter's off the team, Graham," Draco reminded him, not as patient. "Banned by Umbridge."

Montague was obviously still a bit scatter-brained. He blinked confusedly for a moment and then grunted: "Oh, right. Forgot."

There was a pause, and then Montague frowned at him. "Who's playing instead again?"

Draco half rolled his eyes but managed to hide it. "The Weasley girl."

It looked like a light had gone up for Montague. He gave a big nod and said, looking a bit more encouraged: "Right! Then there wouldn't be any problems would there? You're just up against a girl. That's… that's good news. I'd forgot."

Draco nodded agreeingly, and he would never have admitted that Ginny Weasley actually wasn't too bad at Quidditch – not like other girls anyway. But Quidditch was a sport dominated by men (for the most part) and Draco, along with the rest of the Slytherin team, definitely thought it should stay that way.

A couple of weeks later was the very important match for Slytherin against Hufflepuff. It was absolutely mad.

Hufflepuff were leading after just about fifteen minutes into the match. Draco knew his task – do not catch the Snitch until they were leading with _at least_ seventy points, but protect the Snitch from Hufflepuff to catch it. It was a complicated task that demanded loads of concentration and quick-acting. Instead, he tried to help score – finding himself desperate. Pucey was having a particularly bad match, not scoring anything at all.

The score was 80-70. Against the Hufflepuffs. _Embarassing_. They would – should – be the easiest team to beat in all of Hogwarts. Warrington took the bat off Bletchley, riding around the air – the Slytherin team began shouting and yelling at each other, and Montague roared with anger as Warrington through the bat away from him towards Megan Jones which such force that it was hurled through the air towards her in a second – there was a chorused gasp from the audience – but unfortunately for Slytherin but luckily for the Hufflepuff, it missed her by a couple of seconds, however it hit her broomstick – forcing it down, and she began crashing towards the ground, but Cadwallader managed to get to her in touch to catch her on the way. Meanwhile, the others began roaring at Warrington, and one of the other Hufflepuff boys raced through the air towards him – Madam Hooch blew her whistle – nobody listened – everybody shouted.

And in the midst of all of that, Zacharias _sodding_ Smith caught the Snitch.

The embarrassing thing was that those bloody Hufflepuffs won by 10 points. _Ten points_. He could hardly believe it. The atmosphere in the changing rooms was quite unpleasant, to say the least.

Montague shouted at him for not managing his task. Roaring was more like it, echoing through the entire changing rooms, in front of the whole team. Not just that, everyone was rowing – complaining on each other, blaming each other. After showers they had calmed down the slightliest though – or at least the immediate rage had turned into deep bitterness.

"You coming along down to Hogsmeade to drown the sorrows?" Bletchley called after him as they left the changing rooms to make their way up to the castle. The rest of the boys seemed to be on the way down there, sneaking off through the gates at the edge separating Hogwarts from the village.

Draco hesitated, shifted his Quidditch bag from one shoulder to the other and said darkly: "Prefect duties. Might come down later, though."

"All right, yeah, bring the others," Bletchley ordered before he turned and walked down the green hill towards the rest of the Quidditch team, while Draco himself, Crabbe and Goyle made their way up to the castle. They reached the Slytherin common room and Crabbe and Goyle left their Quidditch bags in the dormitory, and brought Blaise and Theodore Nott along when they left again, going down to the village. Draco waited bitterly in one of the hard armchairs, until Pansy arrived a couple of minutes later, sending him a look just as bitter as he felt.

After patrolling the corridors for only half an hour, he persuaded Pansy that they go down to the pub instead (it didn't take much persuasion, to be fair). Only problem was that it was now past curfew, so they couldn't just stroll out the Entrance Hall, and had to use a secret passage.

They emerged in the cellar of Honeydukes, gigglingly sneaking up the staircase and through the dark sweet-filled shop and out on the cobbled street outside. Draco swore under his breath and sent his companion a worried look – the door gave a ting when they opened it and passed by. They hurried out and took a hasty turn into a back alley nearby. They stood quietly, in the dark, waiting. Nobody came. They looked at each other triumphantly, before heading out to the high street again. The village was at peace – it was dark, abandoned and silent. Hogsmeade was sleeping. The only sounds were voices far ahead, men drinking by the sound of it – and the only light in the village came from the same place – the place they were headed. They walked through it, chatting and feeling very free.

They finally turned left onto another street, walked ahead a little bit, and reached the place they were looking for. A rusty-looking sign was hanging over the door, with the image off a chopped off hog's head. The sign moved with a from the wind. The two of them stepped inside, hoping they'd get served, to see a small, dark and very dirty room, smelling strongly of… goat.

Occupying one of the few large wooden tables lit by stubs of wax candles were the Slytherin Quidditch team – Montague, Bletchley, Pucey, Warrington, Crabbe and Goyle, accompanied by Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, Callum Yulley and James Yardley, Philip Vaisey and rabbity one-year younger Timothy Morcott. They were all leading a loud, very angry conversation about the match, all except one – Montague, who was sitting by the side, looking like he was close to tearing his own hair out, staring into the fireplace like a madman, a big glass with the remnants of a dark liquid in his hand, his eyes read. They all greeted the newcomers, and Draco slung his cloak off, before heading to the bar. The only other visitors of the bars were a couple of drunken-looking wizards in their late fifties, scattered around the small room with their pints in front of them.

The barkeep reached in under the counter and pulled out two very dusty bottles of Butterbeer and placed them on the counter with a bang. Draco frowned and slung a couple of galleons onto the surface of the bar, grabbed the two bottles and made his way through the small room back to his fellow Slytherins. That was why they liked the place – they could get served, he thought contentedly, as he sat down and reached Pansy the other bottle and took a big sip of his own, and joining the vivid conversation, bashing the Hufflepuffs.

Later on in the evening, Pansy had tried to calm them all down, and Draco had started on his fourth glass of Dragon Rum – a very strong, boiling hot drink, that made him see things dizzily and his throat burn. He ignored Pansy's attempts at a casual snog, and instead sat muttering about the match with Crabbe and Goyle. He didn't want to kiss her in front of the entire Quidditch team, that should be fairly obvious, he reckoned. Not to mention how frustrated he was of the turnout of the match. _Bloody Hufflepuffs…_

Apparently, however, his cool mood had irritated Pansy, and suddenly she was in his face, her eyes blazing.

"Bloody hell, what did even you bring me down here for!" she accused. He saw two of her, moving very fast around in circles. He frowned, the light pricking his eyes.

"Dunno," he slurred, and he heard Blaise Zabini's muffled snigger on his left. Pansy snorted.

"It's just a bloody match."

The comment made Draco angry. He put up a swaey finger in her face, pointing angrily. "It's _not_ only a match. Bloody females!" he slurred. He didn't know where it came from, but she was so annoying. _Liquid courage_, that was the one. He tried to tell himself it was not her fault they had not beaten Hufflepuff, but somehow it really felt like it was. Perhaps if she had led the cheer better. And perhaps if she was not so utterly clingy and her voice was not so high pitched at the moment, he would not have become as angry as he had.

Pansy gaped at him. "You don't have to take your anger out on me, _Draco_!"

Her voice cut into his ears – yes, she was so incredibly annoying sometimes. "Just sod off, Pansy."

Pansy gaped and dramatically said: "Sorry?!" her voice raised and high-pitched. He winced.

"Yeah!"

"You sod off!" she exclaimed back. He realised, even in his state, that it was quite childish of both of them – but she made him so angry!

"You're the most immature person ever, Draco!" she accused, throwing her hands up, in an upset movement, and accidentally hit her bottle of Butterbeer, which fell and splashed all over Draco's lap.

He instinctively jumped up quickly, immediately sobering up at least a bit. Anger beginning to boil in him, he looked at her murderously: "What the fuck are you doing?"

It almost frightened her – he had never swore at her, he was so different, not her sweet, nice boyfriend – he was cold and hard and it upset her. "It's not like I did it on purpose!"

Draco rolled his eyes angrily. They now had the attention of the rest of the pub. "So typical of you," he groaned, trying to wipe the squidgy liquid off the front of his robes.

"I said I didn't mean to!" she said angrily.

"I know how you're like!" he snarled back. Suddenly an emotion filled Pansy and she wasn't frightened anymore and she didn't want him to not be angry anymore – now she was the angry one. Dramatically, before she knew what she was doing, she grabbed her bottle of Butterbeer, hear heart beating fast with rage, adrenaline pulsating through her veins, stood up in a split second and poured the rest of her Butterbeer over his head – turned it upside down and just poured, and called out: "Have fun, you prick!" before leaving the pub on her own, running back through Hogsmeade and dramatically beginning to cry.


End file.
